


Bleeding Heart

by CamillaBird



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 50,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamillaBird/pseuds/CamillaBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be an Elf in Skyrim is to be little more than trash blowing in the wind. At least, this is what Thelma has experienced...<br/>To them she is dangerous...and she is. To them she doesn't belong, but does she? This is Thelma's story; a Dark Elf in a frozen sea of Nords, wolves and daggers that lurk in the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Just leave me alone.” Thelma took hold of the arrow’s wooden neck poking out of her arm, wishing to all of god’s creations she had jumped out of the way sooner and missed the damn thing completely.  
“So you are just going to take it out yourself?” Vilkas demanded looming over her like a dark cloud.  
“Yes.” Her answer was gruff and seeped with pain and irritation. Her arm was throbbing, her blood was flowing and even if it were at the bottom of the list her butt hurt from falling onto the rock she now sat on so hard.  
Thelma braced her hand on the arrow’s shaft, thumb firmly pressing down and pushed. Pain exploded from her wound and she bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming or cursing or both but finally the wood ceased groaning and gave though the break was by no means clean.  
Jagged pieces of wood and splinters marked the tip of the arrow and she didn’t take pleasure in knowing that all that would be passing through her already agonizing wound. When she gained the strength she then placed her hand on the other end and took a deep breath.  
Vilkas grabbed her wrist suddenly but gently as to not further hurt her and growled. “Do you want an infection? Because if one of those wood pieces gets inside you, that’s what’s going to happen.”  
She narrowed her blood-red eyes. Ever since she’d come to the companions Vilkis had been a royal pain in her side; he was rude, sully, brooding and a know-it-all. Granted he hardly ever spoke with her but when he did it was never good.  
Actually, come to think of it, they’d had maybe three conversations and this was one of them.  
“So what do you propose I do? Leave the damned thing in my arm? Change my name to Thelma Arrow-arm?” she snarled.  
Sometimes it was hard to control the dark elf inside her, the part of her that thirsted for advisory and turned her into a hissing snake with an attitude problem but right now she didn’t really care. He wasn’t the one with a damned arrow in his arm!  
Out of the recesses of his armor, Vilkas produced a thin but obviously sharp blade. “No. I’ll cut the splinters off then you can commence with being a stubborn woman.”  
She hissed but this didn’t appear to have deterred him because he knelt lightly beside her and began to saw through the pieces of wood until the top was more or less smooth. She didn’t thank him or even nod; instead, she poised her hand on the arrow again and pulled with all her might.  
Inside, Thelma was screaming but outwardly there was only a whimper as the arrow came clean out the other side. Immediately she started wrapping her arm in cloth bandages she’d had prepared and tied them securely enough so that it made a sort of tourniquet to stop the bleeding.  
“See? I may be small but I’m not weak.” Weak. Thelma hated the word; it was a disgusting word and to her it was the worst thing a person could be. She was not weak; she refused to be. Not ever again.  
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He said darkly and left her to sit on a hollow log across from her.  
In truth, he looked no better than she; his mahogany shoulder-length hair was messed and dirty, his face was scathed from his left temple past his painted eye to his lips and she’d noticed the way he was favoring his right side when he’d walked.  
They’d been out in the wilds for days searching for a gods damned trinket no less! Nights were the worst because then they had to share a table at some random inn or tavern then usually a room in same inn or tavern. Thank god for the floor; they’d gotten into the habit of interchanging between the two but she’d found a way to cheat. If she pretended to be drop-dead drunk at the end of the night, she got the bed. At least the bastard was thoughtful or stupid enough for that to work.  
“How far to the nearest town, do you think?” she asked not relishing the thought of another night with him but pain and fatigue overruled all else.  
The man shrugged. “A couple of hours or so.” He said simply.  
Thelma rose to her feet. “Better get moving then. I won’t sleep with grass poking me in the ass again.”  
For just a moment she thought she saw a trace of a smile come across his severe face but wrote it off as a shadow. Vilkas didn’t speak and she took his silence to indicate that she should lead on which she did, only after a few minutes did she hear him come up behind her.  
“Damn it, woman! Can’t let a guy rest for a second?” he snarled.  
Thelma kept moving, ignoring his comment. The trek was gratefully silent and didn’t take quite as long as anticipated before intimidating gray and black city walls loomed on the dimming horizon. By then, the pain in her arm had diminished greatly and she’d noticed Vlikas wasn’t hobbling so badly anymore. Shame.  
It wasn’t that she wanted him hurt; she wasn’t that bad of a person even for a dark elf but he was less…Vikas when he wasn’t one hundred percent. In other words, he was less sour and dickish.  
After asking around, the inn of choice around the god-forsaken place seemed to be called…uh…the bleeding orc. That was unfortunate. Very unfortunate. But if they had rum and beds she’d take it. In that exact order.  
And of course the place lived up to expectation. It was dirty, it smelled of stale ale and sweat and there were, interestingly enough, actually orcs.  
“I need two rooms with a bath and food if you have it.” Thelma all but growled from the numbing pain in her arm.  
The innkeeper glared at her uninterestedly over a mug he was pretending to clean. “Only got one room, take it or leave it.”  
Of course, she thought sourly. She’d expected no less.  
“Does it have a double bed?” she asked hopefully.  
The innkeeper shook his head. “Nope. Got a tub though. Last door at the very end of the hall.”  
Thelma sighed. “Fine.” She resigned and snatched the key from the ale-smelling man harder than she should have.  
Scanning the low-lit tavern, Thelma located Vilkas easily….huh, not hard given the three women practically drooling over him.  
She scowled. She just didn’t understand it; sure the man was good looking in a rough and tumble warrior sort of way but the personality wasn’t worth the body in her opinion.  
Thelma pushed and shoved her way through the bustle of people despite her agitated arm and threw herself onto a bench by Vilkas. “I got us a room, last door at the end of the hall.” She said then focused a death glare on one of the women leaning over his shoulder. “Sorry sweetheart,” she snarled. “But I need my beauty sleep so you’ll have to find another bedmate.”  
The woman’s eyes narrowed and if she didn’t know better she’d swear Vilkas smirked but if he did it was gone now. Very slowly and without breaking eye contact, the woman let her hands explore down his chest.  
Thelma quirked an eyebrow. Was this some kind of power play? Really, if the woman wanted him she could have him as long as it was in a different room and she didn’t have to hear it.  
The woman was beautiful if a little overdramatic; blonde, wavy hair, bright green eyes and curves in the right places…her nose was a little sharp but then again Thelma’s dark elven heritage didn’t exactly leave her as a looker. Between midnight-black hair that she kept in a braid, too-large crimson-colored eyes and skin the shade of ash, Thelma was lucky to be called pretty but she didn’t need to be.  
She didn’t need to bat her eyelashes or whisper suggestive nothings to get what she wanted all it took was her trusty daggers and her volcanic temper and men were generally more agreeable.  
A mug was set down in front of her, some of the contents sloshing onto the table. Thelma picked it up and put the edge to her lips and shrugged.  
“Take him. Just not in my room.” Without waiting for the woman’s reaction, Thelma downed the mug and set it down empty. God, she’d needed that. Already she could feel the warmth invading her throat and belly.  
Vilkas remained emotionless despite all the attention he was getting from the woman as if he didn’t even register her existence. What a catch.  
“Well, I’m going to take a bath.” She said. “So you’ve got an hour tops to do…whatever…before I lock your ass out. Just knock first.”  
Again she thought she saw the shadow of a smile on his lips but she didn’t wait around to find out. 

 

Vilkas watched Thelma go, like a dark, irritated shadow and couldn’t help but smile. The girl certainly didn’t mince words; he’d give her that.  
“Dark elf bitch.” The woman murmured in his ear.  
Vilkas leaned toward his tankard, detaching himself from the woman’s embrace. He was going to get all kinds of hell for what he was about to do but…  
Finishing the last of his ale, Vilkas stood and completely ignored the stunned woman as he made his way half walking half limping toward the stairs.  
There were nights were he would have taken the woman up on her offer but this was not one of them. Tonight he wanted sleep; the kind that was more akin to death and when he woke up tomorrow the last thing he needed was to be greeted by a dark elf who was cranky because she was in pain.  
Vilkas paused in front of their room. He should knock; for all he knew she could be undressing though he doubted it. Thelma was in an unfamiliar place so she would be cautious. Sometimes she acted as much like the agitated feline she resembled; skittish, cautious, easily annoyed and prone to clawing your arms to shreds. Therefore Vilkas opened the door with care.  
Sure enough, the second he stepped foot inside the room he felt the cold chill of metal pressed menacingly against his throat.  
“I told you an hour.” She hissed but removed the dagger from his sensitive flesh and he released his hold on a hidden knife he had stashed in his belt.  
“I heard you, I ignored you.” He said. “Take your bath. I won’t look.”  
He turned to see her piercing red eyes narrow and he shrugged. The bed was small, enough for two people but it would be a cozy…intimate fit. Vilkas could handle it; he couldn’t count how many times he’d had to huddle up to worse people for warmth out in the wild. Njada for one.  
Likely though, Thelma would glare at him for merely mentioning it. Honestly she was one of the most hard-headed, temperamental women he had ever met and the only reason he’d agreed to go with her on this quest was because Kodlak thought they needed to learn to get along. And he was trying there was just something…unsettling about her and it had nothing to do her being a dark elf and yet it had everything to do with it. He had hoped to be able to get to know her but no luck so far; the only one she seemed to get along with was his brother, Farkas and that was probably because it was hard not to get along with Farkas. But even he didn’t know her story. Why was she here? Where had she been before? And why was she so hostile all the time as if she were just waiting for someone to pop out of the shadows and grab her?  
The lack of answers made Vilkas uneasy to put it lightly.  
Thelma gritted her teeth. “Fine.” She said then pushed past him and all but dove behind the thin screen that separated the main room from the tub.  
Vilkas smirked and began to loosen the ties on his armor. The chest plate came of easily enough and soon he was stretching his arms and waist in nothing but his beige tunic and fabric trousers.  
Grabbing his pack, he took a seat on the bed and couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming to the thin screen. Thelma’s shadow was outlined in clear shadow from her slender shoulders and arms to her tiny waist and small jaunt of her hips. The armor she wore was form fitting so it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. Not that, that argument would save him if he were caught staring.  
Vilkas busied himself with scrounging in his pack; he had one health potion left. Perfect.  
A slosh and a pleased moan made him look up and he could see the shadow of Thelma sinking gratefully into the depth of the tub, her arm hung lazily over the side. His mouth hung open in surprise; that wasn’t a sound he’d ever thought he’d hear from her. It sounded so…feminine. Pleased.  
Vilkas shook his head to disperse the thought. “How’s the arm?” he called.  
“Working.” She didn’t sound pleased to have been interrupted. The woman was insufferable.  
“Fine.” He snapped. “Forget I asked.”  
With a growl he tossed the pack on the floor sans potion and threw his body onto the straw-filled bed. There was more sloshing and cursing (that was more like the Thelma he knew) and the sound of wet feet hitting the floor. Moments later she emerged, clothed in a long, loose tunic that came to her knees and a glare that could have burst him and the bed into flames.  
It took all he had to suppress the amused smile that threatened to overtake his face. “Bed’s mine tonight, elf.”  
Her eyes flared but all she did was shrug. “I’ll sleep on the floor then.”  
He sighed. It looked like she had changed the dressing on her arm but the blood was already starting to seep through. “Here.” He said casually tossing the potion to her. She caught it gingerly.  
Most normal people would say ‘thank you’ and down it; Thelma stared suspiciously.  
“Would I poison you?” he huffed.  
“Maybe.”  
“Let me rephrase. Would I poison you without reason?”  
She seemed to consider this. “No.” she said eventually.  
As she uncorked the bottle and lifted it to her lips he noticed with interest how the hem of her tunic rose to mid-thigh. She was far from shapely but her thighs were strong, muscled and a deep shade of gray.  
“Better?” he asked when she had finished the last drop.  
To his surprise the elf nodded and untied the cloth at her arm. The skin beneath was smooth.  
He watched her prod it, testing the flesh and was obviously satisfied with the result. “Thank you.” She whispered, so quietly even his sharpened wolf’s ears strained to hear.  
“What? I didn’t catch that.” He knew he was pushing it but the glare was worth it. Dark elves know how to glare.  
She didn’t repeat herself.  
He pretended not to watch as she unrolled a thin mat to sleep on and bunched up a section for a pillow. The hem of her tunic rode up and down, caressing her taunt thighs and he followed it with his eyes until she laid down on the floor and he quickly feigned sleep. Only the distinct sound of metal scraping against wood made him open his eyes.  
“Do you always sleep with a dagger?”  
The elf made no indication that she had heard him, simply tucked the dagger safely under the makeshift pillow at an angle for easy access. “Better than waking up with someone else’s in your gut.”  
“You’re very suspicious.” It wasn’t a question and he hoped she might offer something more.  
“I would rather be suspicious than naïve.” She said nonchalantly.  
Vilkas chewed this over in his mind. So that meant what? That she didn’t trust him? Granted, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure he trusted her but he had reasons. The elf was so secretive; never offering up any information that might reveal anything she didn’t have intentions of revealing. Despite his attempts.  
There was silence from both of them and Vilkas laid unmoving until he heard her soft breaths become steadier and steadier as she drifted into sleep. His leg throbbed and he was thankful for the softness of the straw underneath to numb some of the pain. Tomorrow he would purchase a potion or two to help with that…covertly, of course. Vilkas wouldn’t want the elf to know he had given her the last one.

 

Thelma awoke from a restless sleep by Vilkas nudging her shoulder. And he was lucky because, if she hadn’t known on some level that it was him, her dagger would be on an upward sweep right now.  
“Time to move, elf.” His accented voice shattered the silence and she groaned.  
It didn’t take long for them to armor up and pack then after a quiet breakfast they were on the road again.  
The first few hours, neither of them spoke; it was the one thing she enjoyed about Vilkas, he didn’t feel the need to bring up pointless topics or small talk simply because there was silence.  
When they came to a small stream she asked him to pause and kneeled down by the flowing liquid and scooped some into her palms. It was refreshing and cool and tasted of minerals.  
God, she hadn’t realized she’d been so thirsty.  
Thelma drank more and more not realizing that Vilkas had positioned himself on his knees next to her and was carefully doing the same. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he lifted his cupped hands to pressed lips. She saw his adams apple bob while he drank deeply then used the rest to wet his mahogany hair.  
Thelma tore her gaze away; she was tired. Not sleepy but physically tired and she wanted her own bed so badly she’d be willing to sprint the rest of the way back to Whiterun.  
“What time do you think it is?” she asked.  
Vilkas tilted his head to the sky. “A little before noon.” He said.  
She nodded and stood. The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful; a couple of wolves but that was it.  
It was almost nightfall when they approached the steps of Jorrvaskr and, more importantly, her bed.  
As she opened the door, her muscles instantly relaxed. All the scents and sights combining together to make her feel at home; not a feeling she thought she would ever feel but she’d found that, here, she did.  
“Thelma!” she followed the call of her name to a grinning Farkas and felt her face soften into a smile.  
She waved at him the best she could given the stiffness of her aching arms and he rose his tankard to her in acknowledgment.  
“Glad to see you’ve stopped scowling.” Vilkas said spitefully at her side.  
She turned, searching his face with narrow eyes.  
His expression was dark, though why she didn’t know. “Glad to see you’ve gone back to being a complete ass.” She spat and left before he could answer.  
How was it that Farkas’s twin could be so different? She liked Farkas; he was kind, he had been the first out of all of them to talk to her and he always saved her a seat at meals. His laugh alone was infectious and though the conversations were never deep, he had an inner light to him that made her feel safe…and that was rare. Vilkas…Vilkas was different. There was no denying he was intelligent but he was also sullen, sarcastic, rude and never talked to her unless forced. Sometimes she caught him glaring at her and Farkas from across the room as if he didn’t understand why his brother would want to be anywhere near her.  
Thelma leaned in and draped her arms over the sweet twin’s shoulders in a hidden hug. “How was everything while we were gone?”  
Farkas shrugged. “Good.”  
Thelma sighed with a smile and straightened. She hadn’t expected anything less.


	2. Chapter 2

Still at his position by the door, Vilkas glowered. Seeing the elf drape herself so obviously over his brother infuriated him beyond words. And the fact that Farkas was doing nothing about it did not help.   
It was strange. Vilkas had not once seen the elf hang onto a man or even flirt…he wasn’t even sure the girl was capable but this…  
He didn’t like this. It was his brother for gods sake!  
With a low growl he brushed past the happy couple and down the stairs toward Kodlak’s room. Vilkas hesitated in front of the door to calm himself then rapped lightly on the wood.   
“Come in.”  
Vilkas pushed open the door and the old man peered up at him like he wasn’t at all surprised he was back so soon.   
“I need to talk to you.” He said more gruffly than he intended.   
Kodlak motioned to the chair across from him and Vilkas took it wordlessly.   
“About Thelma?” the old man asked.   
Vilkas paused then nodded thoughtfully. “What do you think about her?”  
Kodlak’s lips turned up into a slight smile. “What do you think about her?”  
I don’t know what I think about her, he thought.   
“I….she’s resourceful, intelligent, good with those daggers of hers and sometimes it’s like she fades into the shadows. She’s good but that’s just the thing.” He said. “Where did she learn to do all that? And she’s so defensive all the time except around…” Vilkas took a deep breath. “Around Farkas.”   
“Ah,” the old man leaned back in her chair and scanned him thoroughly. “Would you like it better if she felt safe around you?”  
Vilkas frowned. “That’s not what I meant.” Was it?  
Kodlak laughed. “Here’s what I think. As you said, Thelma is skillful and she may or may not reveal where she learned these things to you. You will simply have to be patient. I don’t think she means us harm, however. She has a temper but, then again, so do you.”  
Vilkas sighed in exasperation.  
“Farkas has always been a good judge of character.” Vilkas scowled at the mention of his brother. “And he certainly sees something in her. Here’s my advice; talk to her…”  
Vilkas opened his mouth to argue, to tell him that never worked because they only ended up fighting but Kodlak shushed him.   
“By talking I don’t mean grilling for information. Thelma is a person underneath the temper and she responds well to those who not only mean her no harm but also take the time to trust her and can you blame her? Dark elves are not exactly the most widely trusted species…you are not the first to doubt her intentions. Perhaps that hurts her.”   
The weight of Kodlak’s words settled heavily in his chest. He hadn’t exactly been warm to her had he? Then again, she’d recently held a blade to his throat and accused him of trying to poison her…  
“Trust works both ways, Kodlak.” He told the old man eventually.   
“Yes, that it does. But sometimes you have to take the initiative. Thelma strikes me as a woman who’s had many a people scorn her, do wrong by her. It’s up to us to show her we trust her and that she can trust us.”  
“You sound as if you think highly of her.” Vilkas said.   
“I do.” Kodlak laughed. “How can I not think highly of someone who makes our little Vilkas so wrought with emotion?”  
Vilkas tensed, stiffening his back in his seat. “I am not…I am not wrought with anything. I simply…want to know more about her. I have my reasons.” He finished with a huff of irritation.   
“And you will not learn anything glaring at her from across a table.” Kodlak stated.   
For the first time, Vilkas smiled. “I guess not.”   
“Now, how did the mission go?” He laughed.   
Vilkas shrugged, thankful for the change of topic. “Not bad. Relatively easy; Thelma took an arrow in the arm but otherwise injury free. We got the scroll.”  
Kodlak raised a gray eyebrow. “And?”  
“It’s gibberish.” Vilkas said. “At least to me. There’s no way to know if it gives us the information we need”  
“Hmm. Do you have it with you?”  
He nodded and rummaged through his pack. “Thelma looked at it too.” He said, handing the aged rolled up scroll to the old man who took it gingerly. “She’s never seen the language either.”  
“Perhaps it isn’t a language…a code maybe.” Kodlak made a dismissing noise. “Oh well, this isn’t the end of the world. I’m sure the scroll is readable just not by us.”  
“That’s comforting.” Vilkas grumbled.  
Kodlak leaned over to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We’re close, Vilkas.”  
Vilkas’s face fell. “I hope so. More than you know.”

 

Thelma got out of bed or rather she stumbled out of it. Last night was the first real night’s sleep she’d had in too long. She didn’t particularly like the idea of others sleeping so close to her but Ria was a fellow Companion and couldn’t sneak up on her if she tried and Njada was all bark with no bite.   
“Kodlak wants you, little one.” Speak of the devil, thought Thelma. There was an added emphasis on ‘little one’ that made her blood boil.  
Purposely and very slowly, Thelma pulled her dagger out from under her pillow and set it down carefully on a small table. Pointed straight at Njada who was watching nervously.   
Not that the woman’s fear showed on her face, such a thing would be shameful to her unfaltering pride but fear wasn’t something you could hide from a dark elf so easily.   
“On my way.” She said through gritted teeth and Njada stared at her only a moment longer before leaving her to get dressed.   
After clasping her belt, Thelma smoothed her palms down her sides. She was well aware how body-clinging her armor was but it wasn’t as if she had anything to show off. To her the black-leather piece just made it all the easier to blend into the shadows and it breathed as a silent whisper as she moved.   
Thelma stepped out into the hallway wondering what Kodlak could want. She’d been with the Companions for a few months now doing odd jobs like the one she just came back from and never once had he requested to see her. Occasionally she saw the wizened man at dinner in the main hall and he seemed generally agreeable; laughing and smiling with everyone and she knew the others went to him for advice. From what she’d gathered Farkas viewed Kodlak as a father…which most likely meant Vilkas did too. Maybe he’d told the old man about her holding a dagger to his throat.  
In her defense, she could say that hadn’t known Vilkas had followed her so soon. With that girl hanging all over him, she could argue that she thought for sure he’d be a while. But it would be a lie.   
She knew it was him from the second his heavy footfalls stopped outside the door. Maybe she’d just wanted to see what he would do; he’d reacted calmly, unshaken but she’d noticed his hand move to his belt where she was sure a knife was harbored. So he wasn’t stupid, that was something.   
But she wasn’t either; she noticed more than he thought she did. Like the look of pure hatred he’d given her when she’d hugged Farkas. Thelma didn’t have the heart to tell him she wasn’t interested in Farkas that way…it would just ruin her fun. Let him think she was out to corrupt his sweet, innocent brother. That ought to tie his undies in a nice and tight knot.   
Thelma knocked roughly on the door to Kodlak's chambers and was given permission to enter. To her surprise, he wasn’t alone.   
Farkas gave her an acknowledging smile that she returned then leaned swiftly against the wall by the door.   
“We won’t bite, Thelma.” Farkas laughed and she indulged him with a soft smile but didn’t budge.   
“It’s alright, Farkas.” Kodlak said then turned to eye her. “Thelma, how would you like to become a full-fledged Companion?”  
Her body tensed on impulse and she forced herself to calm. You’ve been with these people for months, she scolded herself, they wouldn’t ask anything more of you than you are willing to give.   
Still she couldn’t help the words that came out of her mouth. “That depends on what I have to do.”  
To her surprise, Kodlak chuckled. “A smart answer from an intelligent girl.” He said. “Your trial would be to retrieve part of an artifact of ours under the supervision of one of the Circle, in this case, Farkas.”  
Thelma raised a suspicious, black brow. “That sounds…easy.”   
Kodlak shook his head. “I believe it will be far harder than your last mission and all those before but I think you are up to the task. Last time I saw young ones of your talent was Vilkas and Farkas.”  
“You’ll do fine, mouse.”  
Thelma cringed. Kodlak tilted his head in amusement. “Mouse?”  
Farkas nodded. “Because she’s small, has red eyes and can disappear out of nowhere.”   
It was hard to be mad at Farkas, even after he’d given her the silly nickname but she’d have to talk to him about using it in front of other people even his brother. Especially his brother.   
But Kodlak laughed. “Very well then.”  
“I can be ready in just a moment.” She said in a desperate attempt to lead the conversation away from where it was.  
“So can I.”   
Thelma breathed a sigh of relief and excused herself, stepping swiftly back into the hall with such a hurry that she nearly barreled into Vilkas.  
She felt the heftiness of his hands on her shoulders as he steadied her; the warmth piercing even the barrier of her armor. With a hiss, she jumped back.   
Vilkas scowled. “Forgive me. Should I have let you fall?”  
“I wouldn’t have fallen.” She said, aware of a familiar scent coming up behind her. Farkas.  
Vilkas’s gaze rose, no doubt to meet his brother’s. “Maybe you would have liked Farkas steadying you better.”   
Thelma’s dug her nails into her palms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
Another hand landed comfortingly on her shoulder and she shrugged him off too. Why was everyone feeling the need to touch her? Did she look like she wanted to be touched?  
“Vilkas,” Farkas’s deep baritone echoed over her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”   
Thelma huffed. Yeah, he probably was.   
“Mou-” she spun around so quickly Farkas didn’t even have time to blink before she had lifted on to her tiptoes as far as she could, using his broad chest as leverage to lean in close.   
“Don’t you dare call me mouse in front of him.” Her softly spoken words dripped with malice but Farkas simply grinned and nodded.   
Feeling slightly diffused, Thelma turned to see Vilkas fuming. There was no way he’d heard what she’d said to Farkas, so what was his problem? As if he needed a reason to hate her, she thought.   
“Thelma,” Farkas accentuated her name. “And I are headed to Dustman’s Cairn. She’s finally going to be one of us. I’m her shield-sibling.” He finished rather proudly.   
A wave of dark emotion passed in Vilkas’s ocean-blue eyes but was gone before she could determine what it had been. “Congratulations.” He said. “Try not to get my brother killed.” Then with that he left her stunned and furious in his wake.   
“What have I done?!” she demanded when Vilkas was well out of sight.   
Farkas patted her heavily on the back and she let him. She’d learned to accept the fact that Farkas was touchy-feely she just didn’t always appreciate it.   
“Vilkas is just Vilkas. I know my brother and he doesn’t hate you.”   
“Well it sure as hell seems like it.” She mumbled. “It burns at his skin that I’m close to you.”   
To her surprise, Farkas nodded. “That it does.”   
Thelma groaned inwardly. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.” 

 

It had seemed a good idea at the time. A room full of potions and a lever but that’s where the good ideas ended. As soon as she’d pulled the lever she’d heard the clang of bars, trapping her inside the tiny enclave of a room. Farkas, however, thought it was hilarious.   
“Just get me out of here.” She snarled. “I don’t like being in a cage.”   
“Hold on mouse I-”  
“Looks like our trap caught us a wolf.” Thelma followed the sound of the voice to a human male stepping into the room out of the shadows and felt a twang of panic when more followed.   
There were at least half a dozen well-armed men and women surrounding Farkas; they were backing him into the wall.   
“Kill this one first, then we’ll deal with the elf.” One of the men said.   
Thelma growled, banging on the bars. For the shortest of moments she met Farkas’s eyes and saw a flash of…sorrow? Regret?   
That’s when time seemed to stand still one second their attackers were closing in on him and the next he was writhing, huddled in on himself and through the slit of two bodies she could see his limbs growing….changing.   
Thelma’s legs backed her away from the bars of their own accord; her daggers hilt’s digging into the flesh of her palm. What she was witnessing now wasn’t the man she’d come to know; it was a beast with black, knotted fur, massive haunches and monstrous claws.   
“Farkas…” she whispered. The beast snarled and lashed out at the nearest attacker who didn’t have a chance. Blood exploded as claws ripped and tore through skin and bone one after the other after the other until the attackers’ numbers were severely lessened.   
Thelma watched in fascination and horror as the scene played out before her, helpless to aid him. Not that he appeared to need it.   
A lone attacker, away from the rest of the flock, backed into her little corner stinking of fear and with a growl, Thelma threw herself at the bars and put her blade through his spine. As the man slumped forward, lifeless and bleeding, the beast howled as the last of the attackers managed a quick thrust into his thigh.   
She slammed the bars and cried out. The noise startled the man long enough for the beast to take a chunk out of the man’s exposed bicep then finally his throat.   
Cautiously, Thelma kept an eye on the beast…Farkas…whatever. He didn’t look back at her before running off into a corridor, leaving her trapped in the cage.   
“Don’t leave me in here!” she cried.   
Relief flooded her when moments later the bars lifted and she all but ran out of the enclave when she saw Farkas approaching her almost sheepishly and all but naked.   
Thelma averted her eyes, watching the ground at her feet with interest until he signaled to her it was all right to look. Thank god for her dark gray skin; it covered blushes well.   
“So…now you know.” He said carefully.   
All she could do was nod.   
“Are you…angry? Afraid?”   
Was she? Afraid, no but angry…  
“A little.” She said. “ Angry not afraid.” Of all the time they’d spent together and he couldn’t have mentioned he was a werewolf? Yeah, she was a tad miffed.   
Wait…if Farkas was a werewolf then…  
“It isn’t just me,’ he said as if reading her mind. “ Not all of the Companions have the…gift” he spoke the word with a slight cringe. “ Just the circle. That would be me, Vilkas, Aela, Skjor and Kodlak It gives us the strength of the beast.”   
“I saw that.”   
A frown further marred his bloody face. “ Please don’t be upset. I never meant to keep this from you…it isn’t something we share freely.”  
That was something she could understand. Everyone had secrets they wanted to keep and this was one hell of a secret.   
Thelma allowed herself a slight, reassuring smile. “I…suppose everyone is allowed their secrets. But will I have to-”  
“No.” He interrupted. “ You won’t have to become one of us if you don’t want to and my brother would be murderous if he found out that someone forced you.”  
Thelma chose to ignore that last part and instead went to gather his weapon from the ground. “So these were…” she left the question open for him to answer.   
“The Silver Hand. Werewolf hunters.”   
Thelma sighed. Of course they were. “Great.” She said out loud. “Let’s just get this over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually started this work about a year ago and now I realize that, perhaps, I should have started it in a different place or added a bit more backstory....oh well. Hindsight's 20/20.   
> Either way, Thelma is still one of my favorite OCs I've done and I had lots of fun turning Vilkas into a Hot-tempered, aggressive wolfy. :)  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Vilkas paced his room to ruts waiting for his brother to return.   
Waiting for her to return.   
He wasn’t sure why he cared…maybe he thought the elf was actually going to get Farkas killed. She was a decent fighter, more than decent if he was being honest with himself and remembered the welts she’d left on his skin the first time they’d met.   
Test her hand, Kodlak had said. Now though, Vilkas could swear the old man had had a glint in his eye when he’d said it.  
The world would have to come crashing down around him before he would admit how thoroughly she’d ‘tested her arm’ so to speak. At the time, he’d given her his sword to take to Eorlund just to get some distance between them.   
Of course Farkas would take a shine to her, he thought bitterly. For all the sense it made.   
Vilkas knew his brother like he know the back of his hand and the elf was unlike any woman he’d ever pursued. First off she was tiny in both weight and height, her hips were about two inches short of what Farkas normally liked and her chest was three times that too small.   
Was she pretty? Perhaps. Yes. In her own way. On the rare occasions when she smiled she was beaut-  
Ugh. Vilkas tossed his hands in the air. Why was he even thinking about this?   
Just as he was about to tear out his sword and whetstone to keep himself busy he heard his brother’s burly laughter echoing in from above and all but threw open his door. Upstairs, both Farkas and the elf were surrounded and Farkas was beaming.   
Vilkas resisted the urge to roll his eyes when he caught Kodlak’s gaze. There was meaning in that look and when he turned back to his brother, Vilkas caught it too.   
Oh no. Please tell me he didn’t….  
“Farkas. Thelma.” Kodlak called motioning for the two to follow him. Vilkas took the quick nod in his direction to mean that he should as well.   
Safely behind closed doors, Kodlak turned to Farkas and Thelma. “First, congratulations Thelma as you deserve no less. Second, the scent of your transformation is fresh Farkas…I am not mad at you, however-”  
“I am.” Vilkas struggled to keep his voice below a shout. “How could you be so careless? In front of her no less?”   
“Don’t speak of what you don’t know!” the elf hissed at him. “We would have both died if Farkas hadn’t changed.”   
Vilkas saw his brother lay a halting hand on her arm. “Thank you. You don’t have to defend me but thank you.” He said soothingly. “But she’s right. I had no choice…it was the Silver Hand. More than half a dozen of them and uh…”   
“ I was indisposed.” The elf finished irritably.   
“Indisposed how?” Vilkas fumed.   
Her flaming crimson eyes snapped to his. “Does it matter?”  
“Yes!”  
“No.” Kodlak intervened. “It does not.”   
He couldn’t help but gape at him. “This…this…elf could have gotten my brother killed or worse. Now she knows a secret I’m not so sure we can trust her with.”  
“That’s no surprise.” She snapped. “Tell me wolf, if I were a sweet, innocent blonde-haired blue-eyed Nord would you be so quick with your accusations?”   
Vilkas snarled. “That’s not what I mean and you know it!”  
Standing nervously beside the elf, Farkas eyed the two of them no doubt ready to separate them in case they attacked one another. And that might have been what happened if Kodlak hadn’t burst out laughing.   
“Now, now children.” He chuckled. “We are a family. Fights are to be expected but I don’t think the two of you wish to fight per say, do you?”  
Both he and the elf stared at him indignantly unable to speak.   
“I believe Farkas made the right choice in this matter.” He continued. “And tonight we will have our welcoming ceremony for Thelma she has more than earned the honor and our trust.”  
“Thank you, Harbinger.” She said.   
Kodlak smiled. “No need to thank me, Thelma. Though I believe Ria wished to see you before the event.”  
Vilkas saw a flash of panic come over her features before it bottomed out. “Did she say why?”  
“It was…clothing related, I’m sure.”   
The cringe was back and Vilkas nearly laughed. The elf nodded and excused herself leaving the three of them behind.   
Farkas’s forceful hand clapped him on the back. “Why don’t you just sleep with her and get it over with?”  
Vilkas’s mouth dropped open and both his brother and Kodlak laughed. “That’s ridiculous.” Then his shock turned to anger. “And I can’t believe you talk so lightly about sharing her! She’s not a sword, Farkas.”   
His brother’s eyebrow rose but his smirk stayed plastered on his lips. “I don’t share my sword.”  
Vilkas massaged his temples in resignation.   
“I think the two of you should talk.” Kodlak said then before he could stop him, left the twins alone.  
Farkas wandered over to Kodlak’s table and picked up an apple. “Since when do you have a problem with sharing women, brother?” he asked, that damned knowing smirk not fading.   
“I don’t care.” He snapped. “I don’t want her. Keep the temperamental elf for all I care; as far as I see it she’s your problem.”   
His twin shrugged casually. “Of all people, you should know she’s not my type.” He said before biting into the apple. “I like her, though. She can be funny and she’s nice to me. Never calls me names. Sometimes, she reminds me of you on a bad day.”   
There was so much he wanted to say to that but Vilkas kept silent.   
“Want to know what I think?” Farkas said, suddenly serious.   
“No.”   
“Well, I’m going to tell you anyway.” He chuckled. “I think she’s lonely.”   
Now he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself. “Lonely?” he demanded. “If she is, she’s done it to herself! The only one she ever talks to is you. I’ve tried, it never works”  
Again his brother shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’ve never judged her. All I wanted was a friend.” Then he laughed. “Did you know she sleeps with a dagger under her pillow because she doesn’t like the dark?”  
Vilkas’s face fell. “She told you that?” he asked softly.  
Farkas nodded.   
“Why?”  
“I asked.” He said shrugged. “And she said it was silly but that she’s never liked the darkness she’s just very good at blending into it.”   
“I…didn’t know that.” You might have, he scolded himself, if you had approached the subject a different way instead of being an accusing ass.  
“Her favorite food is grapes and her favorite color is royal blue.” Farkas continued, watching his face intently.   
“Why are you telling me all this?”  
“Because I think you want to know.” He said. “It upsets her the way you stare at her. She says she’s used to people automatically not trusting her but I think your mistrust hurts her more than she shows.”   
Vilkas eyed his brother appreciatively. “That’s very…observational.”   
Farkas shook his head. “I don’t observe. I listen.” 

 

“No.” Thelma growled through clenched teeth.   
“But you look gorgeous.” Ria countered.  
“I look like a high-priced whore.” She hissed. There was no other way to describe it; the dress itself wasn’t so bad…not something she would ever wear but still. It was soft, smooth like silk and deep purple with a slit that traveled up to mid-thigh. With a belt and places to hide a knife or two, she could have handled a few hours in it if forced. It was the black leather bodice that was making her rethink Ria’s sanity and life span.   
Thelma had come to terms with her lack of…assets at an early age but the bodice gave her the illusion of having…something. God forbid she breath too deeply.   
“High-priced whores look gorgeous.” Ria laughed. “Are you sure you won’t let your hair down?”  
“No.” The word was a threat. “None of you are dressing up. Why do I have to?”  
“You’re the guest of honor.” She said. “All eyes on you.”   
“Wonderful.” Thelma grumbled.   
“Don’t worry. With us, you’ll be wearing your armor plenty…soon you’ll even forget you can wear dresses.” A low, feminine voice came from the doorway. “Are you ready?”  
Thelma turned to see Aela bracing herself sideways in the doorframe.   
“I feel naked.” Thelma told her. How long had it been since she’d even worn a dress? A child surely.   
Aela nodded knowingly and tossed something to her. It looked like a belt but much, much smaller with an unassuming, sheathed knife hanging from it.   
“It straps around your thigh.” She said. “The blade isn’t the biggest but it’s better than nothing.”   
In a rare bout of playfulness, Thelma grinned mischievously. “It isn’t the size that counts, it’s how you use it.”   
Both women laughed. “Of course, Thelma. Keep telling yourself that.”   
Soon, Thelma had the apparatus secured to her thigh though she had to adjust it to her smaller size.   
“Come on, we’re all waiting for you.” Aela said. “The men want to get this over with so they can get drunk and, honestly, so do I.”  
“Hell yes.” Thelma seconded the motion and followed the older woman out of the room all the way to the outside training area where she’d spent hours, sweat and blood over the past months and was now filled with her fellow companions.   
Thelma walked, guarding her immediate body closely; she felt the eyes boring into her none more so than Vilkas who probably wasn’t done glaring at her from their earlier fight.   
Aela guided her into position in between Farkas and Vilkas…not a place she wanted to be…. and took her own stance near Kodlak.   
After the ceremony was finished she gratefully took a seat far, far away from the festivities. She may be the ‘guest of honor’ but they seemed to be having a decent time without her. All she was waiting for was an acceptable amount of time to escape.   
There was even a bard for god sake.   
Aela and Kodlak had danced for a song or two, as did a few others the longer the night went on and the more they drank. When she saw Farkas moving purposely toward her, she willed him not to want what she knew he did.   
“I will not dance.” She told him with a shake of her head.   
“Not even for me?” he asked hopefully.   
She managed a chuckle. “Especially for you. I like you, why would I subject you to such abject torture?”  
But Farkas wouldn’t hear it and reached down to pull her to her feet by her wrists. “One dance.” He persisted. “I promise my feet can handle the pain.”   
Thelma sighed but allowed him to drag her into the open by her wrists, thankful that his bulk all but hid her. She felt his muscled arm snake around her waist and was slightly embarrassed that his hand alone could span the length of her lower back.   
Not knowing what else to do, Thelma draped her arm loosely around his waist and let the other rest gently on his shoulder. She imagined most women would commit murder to be where she was now, even her own body that hadn’t been held like this in ages was happy in his arms and for a moment she wondered what was wrong with her. Farkas was sweet, he had welcomed her warmly and had never asked anything of her but…he was more like a brother than a lover and she didn’t think she could ever view him as the latter.   
For endless seconds she simply focused on not doing any permanent damage to his feet, stepping where he seemed to want her to go until he abruptly halted and she peered up in confusion.   
Vilkas stood stoically behind him with his palm planted gently on his twin’s shoulder. “May I step in?”  
Farkas smiled and they both looked to her for permission. The last thing she wanted was to dance with that man; he made ever cell in her body alive with fumes and fire.   
Her eyes must have given something away because Vilkas gave a slight nod, rejection clouding his face.   
“If you wish.” She replied quickly, kicking herself for doing so. “It isn’t my fault if you can’t walk in the morning.”  
Farkas’s hold on her loosened and was slowly replaced by Vilkas’s far less imposing form. His fingers played over the bottom of her bodice as he urged her closer than Farkas had. A minor condolence was that it took far less effort to place her arms on this twin than the other; it was almost natural the way she fit around him as he lead her about with ease, using the palm of his hand to guild her steps.   
They were almost chest-to-chest; his warmth glided over her chilly skin as well as any fire, taking away most of the night’s windy nip. As they danced she felt Vilkas lean toward her ear and tensed automatically.   
“I want to apologize.” He whispered; his breath caressed her earlobe and she would forever blame the shiver that ran through on the cold.   
“You’re not forgiven.” She stated curtly.  
He sighed. “I thought you would say that.”   
“Oh?” she managed, trying to dismiss the effect his hot breaths had on her. “And you know me so well now do you?”  
Vilkas shook his head allowing strands of his mahogany locks to brush her cheek. “No, I know nothing about you and that is my fault. I’ve been-”  
“A prick?” she finished; he chuckled. The vibrations echoed in her chest despite being so different from his brothers. Whereas Farkas laughed in a whole-bodied, earthshaking kind of way, his twin’s laugh was measured and lighter than she would have ever thought possible.   
“Yes, you could say that.” Unexpectedly he rescued her hand from his shoulder and cupped it in his.   
Thelma made a move to glare at him but the sparkle of amusement in his eye stopped her from putting that knife strapped on her thigh to good use.   
“You act as if no one has ever held your hand before.”  
Thelma made an attempt at a causal shrug. “I am not a fair maiden that needs her hand held.”   
Vilkas tightened his arm around her waist making her muscles pulse from the attention.   
She scowled at her treacherous body. Part of her wished he would pull her closer flush against his chest, caress her back with his large palms and fingers, whisper again into her ear. The words didn’t matter.   
The rest of her, the part of her that had remained sane, was kicking her in the ass for even being in this position. Vilkas disliked her, always had; an apology didn’t change anything. Thelma wasn’t sure he even meant it. Then a dark thought entered her mind.   
Thelma stopped moving. “Did Farkas make you apologize?”   
If that was the case, he could take his apology and stuff it up-  
“No.” he said. Oh…  
She scanned his face, hoping for a trace of a lie and found none. Thelma bit down lightly on her bottom lip, peering imploringly around him and seeing Farkas and Kodlak watching the two of them with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. Well, at least someone found this amusing, she thought darkly.   
Hope rose in her chest when she saw Kodlak coming toward them. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.   
Kodlak tapped lightly on Vilkas’s shoulder and she though she heard a low growl by her ear but dismissed it on the grounds of I-don’t-want-to-know.   
“As Harbinger I think I deserve one dance with our newest member before she sneaks away when we are not looking.” He said with a fatherly smile.   
She nodded, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically but Vilkas didn’t let her go. Instead he leaned in closer all but pressing his lips to her ear; her breath caught in her throat.   
“You look beautiful tonight.”  
Thelma froze, a snarl threatened her lips for her own weakness but he released her and she didn’t watch him go.   
She danced with Kodlak and was forced once more with Farkas before she was free to slip away into the shadows when she thought no one was watching.   
Vilkas saw her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly I'm finding that I like Ao3 better than I thought I would. But I can't get my italics to show when I post...it's bothersome.   
> Anywho, here's the new chapter...hope you like it :)  
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I may or may not have access to a computer most of next week and last chapter was so short, I decided to post a second chapter for this week. It, too, is rather short but eventful....hope you like!  
> Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing or leaving kudos. I love reading your reviews and seeing that others like my little story :)

Vilkas had woken up without a hangover and he had not yet decided if that was good or bad. Breakfast sounded appealing, though and, as he expected, she was not there.   
Last night, he’d been more than a little proud the effect his closeness had on her and had been deliberately breathy when whispering in her ear. But perhaps, like a frightened feline, she had retreated from the shivers he knew he gave her and, if that were the case, anger was not far behind.   
Vilkas took a seat next to his twin, daring him with fire in his eyes to say anything about last night. As simple as Farkas could be, he wasn’t stupid and took the hint.   
Most of the companions were up and in separate states of usefulness. Torvar still appeared to be drunk from the night before, Aela was nursing a cup of tea away from most of the noise, Ria was chatting lively to Athis who did not seem to care and Kodlak took most of his meals in his room.   
“Morning brother.”   
Vilkas grunted a response and mindlessly grabbed for a sausage.   
Breakfast was relatively decent and a generally silent affair, but Skjor had mentioned that Kodlak wanted to see him so that’s where he headed straight after pausing only in front of the door to knock.  
“Come in.”   
Kodlak peered up from the book in his lap and smiled. “Thelma believes she may know someone who can decipher the scroll.” He said. “And, as she now knows our secret, I see no reason not to let her oversee its deliverance.”  
Vilkas managed to keep his uneasiness at bay as he answered. “Does she know what the scroll contains?”  
“I suspect she will ask.” Kodlak answered solemnly. “In time.”   
“Forgive me, Harbinger but is this why you wanted to see me?” Vilkas asked as respectfully as he could manage. “To tell me the elf will be delivering our scroll into unknown hands alone?”  
Kodlak chuckled. “Alone? Hardly. Thelma has requested your presence.”   
His mouth opened and closed as he tried to put word to thought. “The elf…asked for me to join her?” Him? Not Farkas?   
Their previous and only mission together could be classified as awkward at best. Volatile at worst.   
Yes, he had apologized and he had spoken nothing he did not mean but he had expected her forgiveness to come slowly if at all.   
“By name.” Kodlak said, rather slyly for a man his age. “Perhaps you made more of an impression last night than you realize.”  
Vilkas cleared his throat to keep the blood from rushing to his cheeks. “Should I…go with her?”  
“I cannot force you to nor would I.” the old man said. “That is your decision.”   
He craned his neck with a deep breath. “I…damn…”   
“Welcome to the wonderful world of women, son.” Kodlak said cheerfully.  
“I am well aware of how women work.” Vilkas countered indignantly.   
Kodlak’s brow rose. “Somehow I think our little elf does not conform to those…standards.”   
Before he could respond there was a light tap on the door then it opened just enough for crimson eyes to peek inside. “Oh…I didn’t realize you had company…”  
“No, come in.” Kodlak said and she shimmied the rest of the way in, closing the door silently behind her.   
To this day, he had not seen just how quiet she could be but he had a decent idea. Not even the floorboards creaked beneath her when she didn’t want them too and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. All traces of the dress from last night were gone, replaced instead by her normal body hugging leather armor.  
“I was just filling Vilkas in on the mission.”   
“So you’re coming?” her voice was completely impassive. So much so that it irritated him.   
“I haven’t decided.” Of course that was a lie; he had already decided to accompany her, but her lack of concern had jarred him.   
The elf’s lips pursed together but she made a noncommittal motion with her hand. “Then I’ll ask Farkas. He’ll come.”  
This sent his eyes blazing and only the spark of defiance in her’s stopped him from causing another screaming match.   
It was like that’s what she wanted, like she was goading him to yell at her. And he was taking the bait.  
Instead he gave her a smile devoid of warmth. “No need. I will come.” He said. “Meet me at the city gates in an hour.”   
The elf glared at him but he was starting to tell the difference between a glare that was harmless and one that was a precursor to disaster. This one was laced in confusion. As if this were a test, one she hadn’t expected him to agree to.  
She nodded. “Alright. See you in an hour.”   
“An hour.” He agreed. 

 

Thelma steadied herself on the stone by the city gates, fidgeting with her fingernails and coming to terms with the fact that she was now officially insane.   
Farkas would have been the logical choice; they got along, the mission would go smoothly and they’d be back in no time. So why was it that the name that had so gracefully hurled from her tongue been…him.   
Because he’s a capable warrior, she told herself. And so is Farkas. Damn…  
“Ready to go?” Vilkas’s thickly accented voice jolted her from her thoughts and she lifted her eyes to peer straight into his.   
“I have conditions.” She stated sharply.   
He crossed his arms to stare at her with annoyance. “Such as? As far as I recall you asked me to come, elf.”  
She ignored his jab and continued. “One, since I agreed to do acquire the scroll, no questions asked the first time around,” she said. “I want to know what you and Kodlak think is so important about the contents that you are willing to send me half across Tamriel to decode it.”  
“Second, when we are not in this city we have to rely on one another to watch each other’s back. Any one of those…women,” she spat the word. “You tend to attract could be hiding a dagger amongst all that errant cleavage. What you do here is your own business but when we’re outside these walls your…relationship…with your lower half could get you into trouble and I wouldn’t be able to help you.”   
Thelma saw the corners of his mouth turn up in amusement. “No one’s stopping you.”   
Flaming arrows could have shot from her eyes. “Just lay off the women until we get back to the city.” She snapped.   
He gave her a curt if somewhat bemused nod that did nothing to stay her temper.   
“And the first?” she demanded.   
“Its…a long story.” He said. “When we stop tonight, I promise to answer any questions you have about the scroll.”  
“I’ll take that.”   
Two hours later they were well out of the city by carriage and she was feeling more at ease with her decision to bring the moody twin with her instead of the talkative one. In her lap, she laid out a map the best she could to show him where they were headed.   
“I think we are somewhere near here.” She pointed to a spot on the map. “And we are going,” her finger traveled nearly to the edge on the far side. “Here.”   
“Can’t imagine the carriage will go that far.” He said.   
“You would be right.” She agreed rolling the map back up and placing it back in her pack. “We’ll have to change every few towns or so but that too will only take us so far.”  
“Sounds as if you’ve been there before.” There was a fishing tone to his voice she chose to overlook.   
“I have.” She answered simply. If he wanted more than that he could damn well ask her like a man.  
Thelma passed the time by watching the changing landscape; seeing the flat farmlands become rocky terrain, the streams and rivers become thick forests. Strange, she thought as silent alarms began to prickle her skin, last time she remembered passing small towns and fishing huts…something was off.   
In the blink of an eye, her dagger was drawn and she spun. With a menacing snarl, her fingers dug into the driver’s skull as she gathered a fistful of hair and roughly pulled his head back to press her cold steel to his throat. The driver cried out, the horse slowed and she was aware of Vilkas’s angry shouts behind her.   
“My blade is a tick away from slicing a very important artery.” She snarled. “But you know that, don’t you?”  
“Crazy bitch.” The man sputtered.   
Thelma let the edge of the dagger push into his skin enough to draw blood. “Who are you?”   
“What are you doing?!” Vilkas grabbed her arm but she couldn’t let him pull her away it was too risky.   
“Leave me be!” she shouted. “This man has taken us off course and I want to know why.”   
In the silence that ensued, she heard the distinct sound of metal scraping against a leather sheath behind her. Huh, she thought, so that’s how it is. Fine. So much for trust.   
Still she didn’t let the man go. “Last chance.” She growled. “Who. Are. You.”  
Suddenly the man’s hand came up and landed on her forearm. Thelma let out a scream as fire engulfed her skin, burning the fine hairs and flesh until she ripped her arm away in pain and rage.   
“Now, Thelma…” the man cooed, obviously smug from his little fireworks display. “ I was told to bring you in alive if I could.”   
A rough hand grabbed her arm and yanked her aside as blue, jagged streaks erupted from the man’s fingertips. As much as her arm throbbed and burned, she managed to lunge over the side of the carriage just as another burst of fire showered the dry wood in flames.   
“Vilkas!” she yelled his name seeing the back of the cart engulfed in orange. Knots twisted her stomach and she snarled, running faster than she ever had and leaping onto the driver. They hit the ground together and she managed to wrap her hands around his wrist, forcing them palm down into the soil. But she couldn’t reach for her other dagger now and she couldn’t let his hands go…  
“Roll off him, elf! Now!” Thelma heard the command; it brought her back to reality. Vilkas.  
There was no time for thought; she obeyed as fast and as agile as she could. Vilkas’s blade came soaring toward the man’s neck and connected with a cracking squelching sound that sprayed blood into her already injured arm.  
A cry of fury left her lips; all she wanted to do was curl her body around her seared arm and scream obstinacies until it stopped throbbing. She was only barely aware of Vilkas kneeling beside her.   
“Let me see it.”   
“No.”   
“That wasn’t a request.” He growled.   
Thelma gave him a growl of her own. “And I don’t take orders.” She spat. “The carriage is on fire and I don’t think the horse will appreciate burning alive.” She winced. “Trust me, it doesn’t feel good. Go cut the rains then we can use the horse.”   
She saw him about to argue and hushed him by tossing him her dagger. “Cut the damn rains.”


	5. Chapter 5

It was sometime after nightfall they rode into a small village and decided to rest. The elf hadn’t muttered a word to him beyond basic necessities. Her arm still looked bad in spite of the two potions she had downed willingly and the two more he had all but forced down her throat. Any attempt to help her clean or dress the wound earned him nothing but hisses and curses from the little elf. And she had been silent since.   
That was fine by him as he wasn’t sure he was ready to speak to her either. Not without a lot of yelling, anyway. Today’s attack left him with nothing but questions. Questions he didn’t think he was going to get the answers to so easily, given that she was obviously angry with him.   
And how exactly was he supposed to react when how of nowhere, with no warning, she jumps out of her seat and puts a dagger to their driver’s throat? Overreaction was safer than under reaction but the Circle has had members in the past that were irrational, impulsive and unscrupulous. It never ended well.  
“I think I see the inn.” he mumbled and got only silence.   
A stall in the stable cost him thirty gold but he’d negotiated for this to include water, hay and oats for the horse and the room cost ten. Meals not included.   
Without a word, the elf left him at the bar and he watched her ascend the stairs like the wolf he was. The words unspoken between them hung heavily in the air around him and even three tankards of ale couldn’t clear his thoughts. If anything it made him angrier.   
Keeping secrets was one thing, he surmised. Everyone had secrets. When those secrets endangered others, they were no longer secrets; they were threats. The Companions were a family, brothers and sisters in arms and the elf was taking advantage of that family. Of his family.   
Having made up his mind, Vilkas came, a little unsteadily, to his feet. He was going to get some answers out of her no matter what he had to do to get them. If he would admit it to himself…he did care for the elf. More than he cared to show but Farkas, the Companions…they were his life, his friends and mentors and he’d be damned if he let her hurt them.   
Vilkas paused outside their door, preparing to throw it open when he heard the tell-tell sounds of muted, soft sobs from the other side. His hold on the knob faltered then he pushed the door in gently.   
“Get out!” the elf screeched from her hunched position on the bed. Her crimson eyes gave away nothing, her face was not flushed; the only indication that she had been crying was the slight sheen of tears streaking her cheeks.   
“No.”  
She stared at him defiantly. “Fine.” She snarled and jumped off the bed, barreling toward the door.   
Vilkas caught her wrist, swung her around and pinned her roughly to the wall. “What’s your problem?” he growled.   
She struggled in his gasp, her nails dug into his hands trying to make him free her wrists. In response he lifted her arms and trapped them above her head. A hiss, more dangerous than the most poisonous of snakes burst from her lips.   
“My problem?!” she spit. “What’s my problem?! What’s your problem?! You, who are just waiting for me to make one step the wrong way? I bet you’d just love to have a reason to cut me down right now, wouldn’t you?”  
Suddenly her knee came up, aimed for his gut but he expected it and he shifted. The elf cried out in anger and probably pain as her kneecap reverberated off a piece of his chest plate. Before she could recover, Vilkas pressed his body firmly to her’s to halt her violent struggles.   
“Calm down, elf!”  
“Fuck you!” Her blood-red eyes bore into his as she spit on his face.   
The roar that came from Vilkas was not human. The beast inside him stirred, threatening to surface to taste her blood on his tongue. Feel it coating his claws.   
Willpower alone kept him from doing just that.   
“Calm down.” He warned. “Or I swear…”  
“What? You’ll set the big bad wolf on me?”  
The elf had no idea. Still she wiggled against him and managed to get her leg free before he repositioned himself to recapture her.   
“No more secrets.” Vilkas forced his tone to level out. Deep breaths, he told himself. Do not think about your anger. Do not think about how furious she makes you. Think about other things…  
Like her scent; purple mountain flower and honey. Or how she was at this moment pressed to his body in a way she never had before…  
Vilkas swallowed hard. Maybe not that.   
“Elf…” he said softer, slightly loosening his grip on her wrists. He wouldn’t let her go but he’d probably already given her bruises.   
“I have a name.” Well, she wasn’t shouting anymore…that was something.   
“Thelma…promise to calm down and talk to me,” He said; her mouth thinned. “And I will let you go.” Even now her tiny frame squirmed and twisted refusing to give up. Whether or not she agreed, he would have to step away from her soon or else all her movement was going to put him in a predicament.   
“Promise?”  
Her eyelids lowered. “Yes.”   
“Alright.” Vilkas didn’t release her right away but lowered her hands and took a step back before finally letting his hands drop from her wrists.   
And her fist hit him square in the jaw.   
Vilkas staggered backward shocked more than anything that a female of her size and weight could put so much force into a strike.   
“I guess I deserved that.” he said, rotating his jaw. “Are you done?”  
She nodded.   
“Did I hurt you?” he asked; her skin wouldn’t betray any bruises but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.   
“No.” she said darkly.  
“Good.”  
She eyed him quizzingly. “Did I hurt you?”  
Vilkas touched his jaw theatrically. “Yes.”   
“Good.” 

 

Thelma sat curled up on the bed sipping hot tea Vilkas had more-or-less intimidated the innkeeper into supplying which hadn’t been hard considering there wasn’t a citizen within a mile who had not heard their…commotion. Even the innkeeper’s wife had peeked in while he was gone just to make sure she was still alive. But the increasingly blue and purple area spreading along his jaw as he sat in a chair in front of her was proof she could give as well as she got.   
“How did you know about the carriage driver?” Thelma rolled her eyes; it was the second time he’d asked her that and her first answer had been to casually sip her tea. And he had let her now his tone suggested that wouldn’t happen again.   
“A feeling.” She told him simply.   
“The man knew you.” He persisted. “He called you by name.”   
“Well I didn’t know him.” She snapped. “If he knew me it was by someone else.”  
“Who is…” he left the sentence hanging.  
Thelma circled the rim of her teacup with her fingertip. “I…I can’t…” she couldn’t look at him.   
“Can’t or won’t?”  
She sighed. “Won’t. I can’t stop you from hating me but the Companions…Farkas….I’ve never felt…never mind. If I tell you what you’re asking of me, you’ll tell them and they will hate me too.”   
From the corner of her eye she saw him rise from the chair; her muscles stiffened. He would not restrain her again! She would kick him in his manhood before with every ounce of power she could muster.   
But he didn’t manhandle her like before; didn’t even touch her, just knelt beside her on the floor.   
“Believe me when I say I do not hate you.”  
Thelma snorted. “Words are just that. Words. You’re actions say otherwise. How quick you were to condemn me on that carriage. To blame me. I thought…” her voice cracked. What did she think? Was she so naive as to believe what he had said about wanting to get to know her? Think that his apology meant he wanted to start over? That…maybe what she felt when he touched her could be something?   
She paled. Yes, she had and she was stupid.   
“I will admit that I reacted poorly.” He said softly. “Though you could have told me your suspicions and we could have worked together. Then you may not have gotten this,” his fingers brushed gently over her bandaged burn. “As you said, outside of Whiterun we have to watch out for each other. And…I’m sorry for my reaction, for what it’s worth.”  
Not much, she thought sourly. “You’re not forgiven.”  
Vilkas smiled at the recollection of her words then his lips fell into a frown. “Please. Just for the moment, let us forget about the Companions about my brother. This is between you and me; the moment you broke the threshold of Jorrvaskr you were family and I will protect you as I would my own blood but-”  
“That’s just it,” she whispered, peering intently at the floor. “All the praise that’s been showered on me since I arrived, all the acceptance…I don’t deserve it.”   
“You have more than proven yourself-”  
“I’m an assassin.” She blurted. There she said it and she couldn’t look at his face now if she tried. “And a coward. A runner. An outcast.”  
Thelma didn’t need to see his expression to know his fury; she could feel it. “You are a member of the Dark Brotherhood?” it was not a question.   
“Was. I was a member. I ran.” She clarified as if that made it any better. “I never wanted to be a murderer…it was an accident.”  
She felt a calloused hand cup her chin not unkindly and pull her focus. “How, Thelma, can being an assassin be an accident?”   
“Cowardice.” She spat. “I’m a coward.”   
Vilkas smiled weakly. “You punched a werewolf.”   
She frowned and was surprised to feel the pad of his thumb play over the crease of her lip. “No, I’m afraid to die.” She said.  
Now it was his turn to frown. “I think that can be said for most.”   
“Are you afraid to die?” she asked pointedly. He was a warrior, a Companion; he was fearless.   
“Yes.” He answered.   
“Liar.”   
Vilkas sighed and came to his feet only to take a seat next to her on the bed. “Being a werewolf is a curse as much as it is a blessing.” He said. “Aela and Skjor may not see it that way but Kodlak, Farkas and I…” his voice trailed off for a moment. “As werewolves, when we die, we will not enter Sovngarde as we are meant to. Instead,” his voice became harsh. “Hircine will claim our souls for his endless hunt and I, for one, do not wish to spend the rest of eternity as a beast. So, yes, I am afraid of death.”  
“You wanted to know what that scroll we carry might contain?” He continued. “The cure. Our cure. Kodlak, me…my brother. That scroll is our last hope at redemption.”  
Thelma was silent for a long while just listening to the sound of his breaths allowing them to calm her then she took inhaled deeply. “I grew up in Riften.” She said. “In the orphanage. My parents, I had been told, were killed by a group of bandits and I, a toddler, was left to die. Apparently I crawled far away enough to be found by a farmer who couldn’t be bothered to raise a dark elf child so he and his wife took me to the orphanage.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “Of course I was never adopted; all the families wanted the cute ones, the sweet ones, the blondes and the blue-eyes. I unsettled them. So when I was sixteen, they told me they needed the bed and threw me out.”  
Tears threatened her eyes but she refused to let them out. “I had no choice but to take what I needed, lift pockets, liberate safes…soon the thieves guild took notice said I was taking their marks. They wanted to make an example of me so that everyone else would know what happened when you crossed them but one of the members took up for me.” She smiled, remembering her mentor and what he’d taught her, how he’d watched out for her.   
“Brynjolf convinced them my life would better be served in the guild and he became my teacher.” Suddenly she felt Vilkas’s warm palm on her thigh and she stared at his hand like it was foreign to her. Was he comforting her? Him? Mr. Attitude?  
“Did he teach you to fight?” he asked.   
Thelma shook her head. “No. I learned that…I learned that later. No, he taught me how to pick locks and how to disappear in the shadows. He taught me what potions would complement my abilities, he taught me…” she paused, her cheeks heating. “He taught me a lot.”   
Vilkas’s hand squeezed her thigh with a low growl but didn’t say anything. Surely he wasn’t jealous? That was a long time ago…  
“But that was years and years ago.” She said for his benefit. “I was just a pawn to them. Doing what I was told with an invisible debt hanging over my head and what’s sad is I didn’t even realize that until I was forced to leave.”   
“Why were you forced to leave?”   
“Why do you care?” Her question cracked like a whip.   
“I care.” Vilkas’s words hit her square in the chest. Not even Brynjolf had ever said those words to her; he’d made it very clear their…relationship…was anything but. Sometimes marks needed to be buttered up, distracted he’d said and then he’d taught her just how to do that. Not that she had ever utilized those skills but at the time, she’d enjoyed learning them it wasn’t until much later that she realized he’d used her. Though she could hardly hold that grudge now, not with all the other tools he’d given her that had proved to be useful.   
Thelma found her fingers moving on their own to brush against his hand; Vilkas had the skin of a warrior, thick and calloused but not unpleasant to touch.   
“I got it in my head to revisit my old home, the orphanage.” She told him. “While I was there, I saw this horrible old woman berating the children calling them names. It was abuse. For all the bad memories I had of that place, no one had ever abused me. When I saw the woman strike a child I went to stop her before she could hit him again, she struggled against me and I…I pushed her.” That day came rushing back to her; the first day of the end of her life. “The woman fell backwards and hit her head on the side of the table; there was blood everywhere and I tried to check her pulse but she was dead. I didn’t know what to do; I had never killed anyone before so I ran.”  
Vilkas clutched her hand reassuringly and she allowed herself a weak smile. “I ran out of Riften, I ran until my thighs burned, I ran until I couldn’t breathe anymore. I’m not sure where I ended up, what town I was in but I used the last of my money to rent a room thinking I was safe. I was wrong. I woke up in a shack; I’d been drugged or something and there was this woman, Astrid.” Thelma said her name with disgust. “She told me the woman in the orphanage had been a contract for the Dark Brotherhood and that I had taken their kill. I tried to tell her that it was an accident but she just laughed and told me I had to make it up to them. I killed someone else that night as some kind of sick amends for my actions, they could have been innocent or worthy of my blade but I killed them anyway because I was afraid to die. Because I was a coward. Unfortunately Astrid, like Brynjolf, thought my skills were useful so I was made an assassin with the knowledge that if I failed to please I would be killed.”  
“That is where you learned to fight.” Vilkas stated as the knowledge dawned on him.  
Thelma nodded. “Eventually I’d had enough after they asked me to…to do something terrible and I did what I do best; I ran. I hid the best I could but I was paranoid; in every town I passed through, however, I would hear praises about the Companions, about their skill and prowess and I figured, if ever there was a place to hide and be protected, they were it.”  
“You used us?” For the first time he sounded harsh and it angered her.   
Suddenly furious, she snatched her hand away. “Yes I used you. The way I saw it, I’d been used by others my whole life so I didn’t see a problem. But…” The fire in her gut subsided. “You’re not like the Brotherhood or the thieves. The Companions accepted me, as is; no one tried to blackmail me or hold life and death over me in an attempt to get me to behave. I have been treated as a friend, as family but that carriage driver…I wish he could have been taken alive, to find out exactly who he was working for. Now I don’t feel so safe.”  
Then she sighed. “I’m sorry my impulsive knife arm.” Thelma paused to give him a sly smile. “Though sometimes it pays to be suspicious and paranoid.”   
Vilkas nodded. “Aye, that it does.”  
Her smile faded as quickly as it had come. “So now that you know,” she began tentatively. “Do you hate me?”  
Waiting for an answer was torture. If I left now, she thought in the heavy silence that ensued, I could move by night and find a place to camp by day. Her body was tiny so she fit into smaller enclaves rather easily-  
Thelma breath hitched when she realized Vilkas had moved closer, as close as they had been when they danced. “I do not hate you, elf.”   
Her brow furled in annoyance. “What did I say about having a name?”  
To her surprise, he chuckled taking the cup of tea from her shaking hand and setting it on the nightstand. The next thing she knew his palms were flat against her shoulder and he was urging her to lie down; at the risk of punching him again, she let him.   
“I will take the floor.”  
As worn as she was, she nodded. Thelma didn’t even bother with her armor as it was comfortable enough or, at least, not uncomfortable and before she knew it she had fallen to sleep. In her mental exhaustion and eagerness to close her eyes to the world around her, she had even forgotten to place a dagger under her pillow so before he retired himself, Vilkas did it for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish my italics would show when I copy my chapters over; so much emphasis and emotion is lost...  
> Thanks to all who read!


	6. Chapter 6

It was three weeks later and Vilkas sat with the elf and Farkas in Kodlak’s quarters as the old warrior perused the translated scroll.   
“I see.” He said eventually. “So there is a cure.”  
Vilkas huffed aware of the elf’s crimson eyes on him. “Some cure.”  
They had not spoken much over the past weeks but the air was cleaner between the elf and him; she had even taken to giving him a rare smile or two which made his internal urge to scoop her into a protective embrace where nothing and no one could harm her again all the harder. However, her contact, whom she had revealed to him came from her time in the thieves guild, had been able to decipher the complex and very old code on the scroll and his mood had soured.   
“Hags heads, while difficult to acquire are not impossible…this ritual could work.”   
“Could.” Vilkas repeated the word. “Could work. And what would we lose? Aela and Skjor would never help us to cure this curse and you are…” he trailed off embarrassed.  
Kodlak chuckled. “No need. I am well aware of my age and my current usefulness in battle.”  
“Then that leaves only Farkas and I.” Vilkas said with a glance to his twin who appeared deep in thought. What those thoughts were he could only guess as he did not do so often; not like this.   
“I didn’t hear my name.” The elf challenged.   
He glanced at her. “Why would you?”  
If it were possible for a woman so small to pull herself up proudly, Thelma managed. “I am a member of the Circle just as you are.” She snapped.   
“But you are not a werewolf.” He answered. A battle against the magic of hags was nothing to scoff at and he held no illusions that he would be able to remain human throughout it. Yet even as a werewolf the task would not be easy; a small dark elf, albeit a skilled assassin, held little to no chance of survival. Vilkas would not allow her to take such a risk for them.   
“No.” He said firmly. “Hags don’t simply cast magic, they are magic. Farkas and I have a slight upper hand in that we are werewolves and we can use that to our advantage but you would be killed. I won’t allow you.”  
Her fury was evident in her eyes. “Won’t allow me? I am no child, Vilkas.”  
Vilkas watched, narrow eyed, as his brother laid a soothing hand on her shoulder; he barely resisted the ensuing urge to yank her possessively into his arms and growl at his twin. As it was, his threatening gaze was enough for Farkas to drop his hand like the elf underneath was made of acid.   
“My brother didn’t mean it that way.” Farkas said.  
“Yes I did. This is our problem; if we die then we die for our own stupid choices. She has nothing to do with this.” Vilkas did not meet her eye; he knew they were as molten lava by now.   
“Thelma…” Kodlak said her name softly. “However much it pains me to know Farkas and Vilkas will be alone…he is right; this isn’t your battle.”  
Now he looked at her and her mouth was agape but her expression was furious. “I…can’t believe I’m hearing this. As difficult and life threatening as you are all making this out to be, you spurn my help? I’m no porcelain doll, Harbinger.”   
“Nor do I think you are and, in the end, this is between you, Farkas and Vilkas. I cannot and would not order you to stay away but I stand by what I said. We cannot ask you to die for us.”   
If the elf’s body were any tenser, Vilkas thought, she would collapse in on herself. Crimson eyes jumped from Kodlak to Vilkas and finally settled on his brother.   
“And you feel the same?” she demanded.   
Farkas shot him a panicked glance but he kept his expression passive. “I…yes. Yes, little one.”   
The atmosphere chilled as the elf took a swift step backward. “Fine.” Her voice was as ice. “Then I have no further business in this room, excuse me.”   
She swept passed him before he could react and she slammed the door behind her so forcefully books fell from the bookcases.

 

How dare they?! Thelma stormed down the silent halls of Jorrvaskr in a storm of fury.   
Vilkas. Farkas. Kodlak. All of them had treated her like she was no more than a helpless child nagging to play with the adults. Like she was weak.  
Like not allowing her to help them would make her drop the issue.   
Not a werewolf he says. Not your problem. Screw Vilkas; she’d make it her problem and Aela would help her.  
Thelma found her just returning from a hunt with Ria and she made sure her expression gave nothing away as she approached her.   
“Aela, good. I’ve…” she feigned hesitation. All her years with the thieves and the Brotherhood were good for something at least. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about…something.”  
Aela searched her face for clues but Thelma was confident she would find nothing. “Of course.”   
Thelma led her into a smaller room off the main hall and closed the doors quietly behind them.  
“Is this about Vilkas?” The other woman asked. “You’re not…you’re not pregnant are you?”  
What the hell?! “Uh, no…” she tried to let a blush creep up on her cheeks as it would make her appear innocent. And she didn’t have to try hard. “No. I wanted to ask…well, you know I know about your…. condition.” Aela remained straight-faced so she continued. “And I wanted to ask if perhaps you would consider…” Thelma purposely let her sentence hang. There’s more than one way to play this, Vilkas.   
After a moment of allowing her request to sink in Aela laughed. That was a good sign. “To be honest,” she said. “Skjor and I wanted to induct you the night after your ceremony but Kodlak said it should be up to you.”  
Thelma took a deep breath to prepare herself. She hated lying to Aela, leading her on like this but if this is what it took to get Vilkas to see reason…  
“This is what I want.” She said truthfully; this was what she wanted just not for the reasons Aela believed.   
Aela smiled. “Then follow me.”

 

Aela had located Skjor and now they were all safely tucked away from any wandering eyes under Skyforge accessible via secret door she’d never have been able to open even if she threw her whole body against the switch.   
Thelma’s skin crawled at being so close to Aela in full wolf form but she didn’t show her discomfort. In fact, to the untrained observer, it was nothing more than nerves of anticipation.   
“Kodlak doesn’t accept our gift for the blessing it is.” Skjor said. “Aela and I embrace the beast and so will you once you feel the whole-bodied thrill of your first hunt, your first kill. The wind blowing through your fur as your roam the countryside unchallenged. Sometimes the wolves themselves run with you.” He chuckled but the fine hairs on her arms stood with the conviction of his words.   
She needed to get this over with before she lost her angry steam and, effectively, her resolve. “I can’t wait.”   
The enthusiasm of her words had her fellow Companions grinning. A grinning werewolf…not something she ever wanted to see again.   
“Then let us not waist time, shield-sister.” Skjor motioned for her to approach the large stone bowl in the middle of the area and she obeyed cautiously. It could have been mistaken for a bird bath if it weren’t set up in underneath a mountain with dark stains that appeared to be…  
Oh…ah…ah damn.   
Just as the realization hit her square in her senses, Skjor had taken Aela’s giant, clawed arm and cut through her flesh with a dagger.   
Thelma watched the blood flow freely from her arm and into the stone bowl, hoping her face didn’t give away the horror and sickness she felt at knowing what she was expected to do. Gods…Vilkas and Farkas had done this willingly?! Although, so was she…kind of.   
The coppery scent of Aela’s blood filling her nostrils was enough to make her wretch but she kept it down. You can do this, Thelma. Do not show weakness. Do this for Kodlak, for Farkas.   
Do this for Vilkas.   
Thelma held her breath and her nose and dipped one hand into the gory pool.  
Eww. Oh hell. Do not lose your stomach, Thelma.  
Before she could act on what was running through her head, which was screaming in terror and fleeing into the night, she lowered her lips to the red liquid. The first sip went down well, as well as blood could, the second was harder as her mind was rebelling against her actions. She didn’t make it to a third.   
Fire erupted in her belly and she doubled over, clutching her stomach. Her arms and legs ached; her back throbbed as if her limbs were being stretched like never before.   
A scream left her lips but came back as a feral roar off the stone. Teeth had been replaced with fangs; long canines meant to rind and rip flesh. Smooth gray skin had become like-colored fur. Nails became claws.   
Thelma was gone; but the wolf remained. 

 

Vilkas quickly scanned the room where most of the Companions had already retired to for the night. The elf wasn’t here either.   
He sighed. Neither was she at the training grounds, the main hall or the Bannered mare…damn it.   
Gods he hoped she hadn’t run. Simply the thought made his insides reel; his little elf out in the wild all alone because she was stubborn and couldn’t see he was trying to protect her.   
If he found her, he could make her understand. Show her just what she meant to him and why he wanted to keep her safe. But she was nowhere to be seen.   
With a heavy heart, Vilkas took to the stairs. Maybe if he left now he could catch up with her…  
Unlikely, he thought with a snarl. If the elf did not want to be found then she wouldn’t be. Simple as that.   
Vilkas’s place was not deep in darkness and shadow; that was her domain and he wouldn’t have the first clue on where even to start.  
“We go after her, we have to.” Vilkas heard Aela’s voice before he reached the final step up into the main hall.   
“Aye, but we should tell someone.” Came Skjor’s curt reply.   
“Tell someone what?” Vilkas asked briskly, striding up to them. “Where’s the elf?”  
Aela’s face softened and dropped. “We don’t know. Neither of us expected her to take the change so harshly…she attacked us and fled.”  
It was as if the breath was knocked out of him. For the first time he noticed tears in Skjor’s chest plate, the bloody marks streaking his skin. Claw marks. No….  
“What have you done?” His tone was deadly, more so than Aela had ever heard and she was taken aback.   
“Thelma asked for this, Vilkas. She came to me personally.” She said.   
“She…” And his heart dropped into his stomach. No, she wouldn’t do that; not just to spite him. “How could you?”   
“It was her damned decision, Vilkas.” Skjor barked. “We didn’t hold her down and force the blood down her throat.”  
Vilkas surged forward, snarling. Both werewolves hit the ground hard and Vilkas’s fist slammed into Skjor’s furiously red face. Rage and hurt powered his assault; anger at Skjor and Aela, anger at the damned elf’s recklessness, anger at himself for not seeing this coming.   
Suddenly the wind was knocked out of him by Skjor’s elbow stabbing painfully into his gut and a forceful punch beneath his chin propelled him backwards.   
“Skjor! Vilkas!” Kodlak’s commanding voice was like restraints and both men came to a halt.  
Panting, red-faced and furious Vilkas glowered daggers into Aela standing by the old warrior’s side. “Do you know what they’ve done?”  
A flash of hesitation passed over the old man’s face before he nodded. “The short version, yes. Vilkas…if this was her decision,”  
“To hell with that!” he growled. “This is revenge; you know that as well as I. some sick way the elf devised to get back at me for what? Trying to keep her safe?”  
Kodlak shook his head. “If she was willing to go to this extreme, to take the blood of the wolf and all the consequences I do not believe it was to spite you.” Vilkas opened his mouth to argue but the old warrior raised a hand to shush him. “Regardless, all that matters now is her safe return. In that, I think we can all agree.”  
“Harbinger, I will find her.” Aela said. “She was my responsibility and I failed her.”   
“No.” Vilkas said harshly. “Farkas and I will find her; you’ve done enough.”   
“Thelma made her choice, Vilkas, whether you agree with it or not and whatever her reasons.” Aela snapped. “My only regret is underestimating her.”  
“Enough. Both of you.” Vilkas had not heard Kodlak speak so loudly or with such force since he was but a child. It made him feel like one again. “Vilkas, we both know tracking Thelma as a human would be fruitless. Aela and Skjor are more open to the change and-”  
“If I have to break my oath to you this once to find the elf then I will, Kodlak.” Vilkas warned.   
Of all the expressions he’d expected from his outburst the accepting even warm smile on the old warrior’s face was not one of them. “Sometimes hard choices have to be made; especially for those we care about.”   
Stunned, all Vilkas could do was nod.   
“After she attacked us, she fled down the tunnel that leads out of the city.” Skjor said with annoyance.   
“There are not many farms and few fishing or trade posts that would be occupied so the likelihood of a human death is low.”   
Vilkas cringed at the thought. Once, not long after his first transformation when he was still wild, still reveled in the beast blood that plagued him, he had awoken in red snow next to the heavily mangled remains of an elderly man. Vilkas had found out later that the man had been a merchant with a wife, two kids and a grandchild on his way to Whiterun and must have gotten lost on the way. That had been a turning point for him and he did not want the elf to have to go through that. She’s already had to deal with so much.   
Never mind the fact that this was her own damned fault.   
“Then Vilkas, Skjor and I will go.” Aela said. “And, for what it’s worth Vilkas…if she had ulterior motives, I was not aware. I am sorry.”   
Like hell you are, he thought but nodded his acceptance.   
“Vilkas, a moment…” Kodlak called as Aela and Skjor disappeared into the night. Vilkas paused at the door and tilted his head in acknowledgment.   
“Perhaps Thelma has a good reason for her decision; a reason,” he continued. “That would be wise to hear before you condemn her or say something you know in your heart you will regret.”  
Vilkas paused for only a second longer; filtering the Harbinger’s words carefully in his mind then with another quick nod stole into the night and gave himself up to the beast.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to all who read and I hope you all like this chapter!

Thelma dreamed the dreams of the wolf.   
Rolling hills teeming with prey, grass and weeds felling under thick-furred paws that dashed not unlike the wind. The myriad of scents was overwhelming; fish and algae from a lively brook, floral lavender and musky pine, lowlights and highlights that made the wolf’s feral mind spin.   
Deep panting breaths combined with the incessant chirping of crickets and the bellowing of frogs. Other wolves’ fear reeked in the atmosphere and it filled the beast with pride.   
Freedom. There was no place the wolf did not rule…  
Thelma jerked awake, suddenly aware of a gentle hand shaking her by the arm. Her fist flew up on instinct, knuckles brushing hard bone as her rouser gave a rough curse.   
“Damn you to hell, woman!”   
Wait…she knew that voice.   
Thelma lifted herself onto her elbows, making every attempt to focus and not succeeding. Other senses, however, were sharp as a nail as she inhaled the chilly night air. Werewolves…. three of them smelling of sweat and the aroma of wind itself.   
Funny…the wind never had a scent before.   
“Vilkas?” Finally her eyes adjusted to the lack of light enough to see him clearly. He was naked from the waist up; the pants he wore fell just past his ankles with what appeared to be arrow holes in the thighs so she assumed they weren’t his.   
And damn…  
Farkas might be the stronger twin but Vilkas was not hurting for muscle. That was…unexpected. Nice but unexpected.   
Little by little, she came to her senses and forced herself to look at his eyes that bore into her intensely.   
“Vilkas I…” She started but he hushed her, grabbing something off the ground and kneeling down beside her. She would not apologize for her decision but her anger had long since seeped away and there was nothing but tenderness in his eyes.   
“Later.” His voice was unnaturally hoarse as he covered her with what he had picked up and lightly stroked her cheek. “Skjor and Aela are scouting the area. Are you alright?”  
With a nod, Thelma peered down at herself and at the rough, badly worn fabric now covering her nude body.   
She sucked in a gasp, taking a fistful of the thin cloth, which appeared to be a tattered old flag, and held it to her chest come hell or high wind. Now, at least, she knew why she had been so cold. Oh god…  
Vilkas chuckled at her expression. Fire invaded her eyes as they shot to his and her mouth opened to call him every nasty name she could think of when, without warning, he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in the lightest of kisses.   
Thelma went rigid, frozen in shock; she didn’t even breathe. Eventually her muscles calmed; her lids began to slid over her eyes ready to simply enjoy his touch when he pulled away.   
“Sorry, elf.” He said with a tone that suggested he’d misinterpreted her reaction as rejection. Her hands shot up of their own accord to cup his chin, bringing him back down to her.   
If she’d surprised him, he didn’t show it, returning her intimate attentions with some of his own. By most standards their kiss was chaste but the heat was unimaginable; she’d never felt anything like it even with Brynjolf.   
“Ahem.” A not-so-subtle cough drew her attention but Vilkas didn’t pull back immediately, instead pressing a final kiss to the corner of her lips before collapsing back into a sitting position.   
“There’s a bandit camp not far from here.” Aela said, her amusement barely contained on her face. “Not many, a dozen perhaps. I managed to get these, thought you might need them.” Aela tossed her a large ragged tunic and a pair of trousers she’d have to tie to get to fit.   
Keeping the decrepit flag tightly around her, Thelma wandered into the bushes nearby to change. Why she bothered was anyone’s guess and she didn’t believe for one second Vilkas hadn’t gotten an eyeful before waking her. If the roles were switched, she certainly would have.   
As clothed as she was going to get, she did a covert shimmy of her hips to make sure the sour-smelling bottoms would remain in place then came out of her hiding spot without any of them noticing. Something she was more proud of now more than ever now that she had experienced the intense senses of the werewolf first hand.   
“Alright, let’s get this the hell over with.” She said and took a long, deep breath to fill her lungs. This was going to take a while. “Aela, I should not have lied to you and I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, this is all Vilkas’s fault but I know that does not make my deceit right.” She turned her attention to Skjor whose face resembled a sour grape. “I’m sorry about tearing your armor and, if you want, I will replace it. There’s nothing I can do about your chest though and, in all honesty, you really should have just gotten out of my way but still I am sorry for hurting you.” At the end, Thelma wasn’t sure if the smirk on his face was in anger or amusement but he nodded. Then she swallowed hard when she turned to Vilkas. The cool night air was doing wonderfully distracting things to his bare chest so she decided to speed this up.  
“Damn it, I won’t apologize to you for what I’ve done.” She snapped. And your little kiss trick isn’t going to make me, she thought. “But I will thank you…for…for being here.”  
Vilkas reached out and briefly brushed her forearm. “Later.”  
She nodded. There would be yelling. A lot of yelling. At some point she would probably hit or try to hit him and he would stomp off to cool down before he ripped her throat open. Such a special relationship.   
“Right. Anything else I should apologize for?” she asked. “Good because my ass is wet and cold. I cannot feel my legs, everything stinks and I may or may not have raw rabbit stuck in my teeth.”  
“Vilkas, you should take Thelma back to Jorrvaskr. Skjor and I are going to take care of the bandits.” Aela said softly.   
“Are you sure, Aela?”  
She nodded. “There are not so many and she is hardly in a position to fight. We can hardly leave her here.”   
As much as that sentence, she knew the huntress was right.  
“Be safe, shield-sister.” Vilkas called.  
“We will.” 

A bath had been her first order of business. That was almost forty minutes ago.   
Thelma stood near the tub frowning. Surely the water was cool by now but that was beside the point.   
The disgusting, overly-large clothing she’d wore were piled unceremoniously in a corner and she had changed into a basic tunic that covered all the important body parts when it dawned on her she had been staring, unmoving, at the filled tub for over ten minutes.   
For the first time, the thought of a bath…bothered her. Getting wet and having the water seep into her hair…  
Thelma shivered at the idea. Hells…this was insane. Ridiculous. But she couldn’t will her legs to move.   
She let out a frustrated growl just as a thick knuckle rapped on the door.   
“Go away.” She hissed. “I’m taking a bath.” Normally she would reach down and splash some water for effect but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.   
“Still?” Vilkas called through the wood.   
His response dredged up the insanity of her sudden insecurities and she snarled, grabbing the hem of her tunic. One pull and it would be off and she could leap into the tub, cold water and all…  
Seconds passed with no movement. Damn!  
Instead she made for the door and threw it open. “Well?!” she demanded.   
Vilkas’s cerulean gaze took in the state of her dry hair, the smudges of dirt and god only knows what else on her skin and her fierce features. To her irritation he gave a brief chuckle.   
“Glad to see I amuse you.” She snapped. He extended a hand and brushed along her prominent cheekbone which she allowed because she was officially mad and, perhaps, because it felt good.   
“Not a drop of water on you.” He noticed lightly.   
Thelma scowled. “I was getting to that.” she lied, feeling his fingers travel down her jaw to her neck where they rested.   
“It has been a long time since we last had a cub.” He said.  
She looked at him quizzingly. “Cub?”  
Vilkas smiled. “A new werewolf.” He clarified. “Farkas was our last and he more or less knew the…issues. We have been inconsiderate with you.”   
“Issues? No, don’t start berating me now for my decision. It’s done and it was made in full knowledge of what will…what will happen to me if I die like this.” She saw the hurt on his face and covered his hand with hers. “It’s over, Vilkas all I can do now is help you cure it.”  
Vilkas took a deep, calming breath. “Let’s not talk about that just yet. I need time to…” Vilkas paused as if searching for the right words. “To come to terms with all of this and not jump to conclusions. Until then it would be cruel not to tell you that you are never going to get your bath. Not without Aela to hold you down kicking and screaming while Ria dumps the water on your head.”   
“They wouldn’t dare.” Her breath came out a hiss.   
“No. Probably not.” Vilkas agreed and wound his fingers in hers lowering her hand. “After his change, Farkas nearly ripped Skjor’s arm off for trying to push him into a pond.”  
So it wasn’t just her. That was a minor comfort. “Did you have the same problem?”  
“Yes but eventually my brother hoisted me over his shoulder and tossed me in the tub because I stunk so bad. It gets better the more you do it.” He assured her.  
Great. And here she was with dirt and blood on her skin. That couldn’t stay.   
Vilkas must have sensed her dilemma because he pulled her back into the room by her hand. “Stand there.”   
Of course, her first instinct was to tell him exactly what he could do with his command but thought better of it with a tub full of water so readily available for retaliation.   
She watched suspiciously as he pulled another tunic from a drawer and ripped it like paper to a smaller size. The second he dunked the torn rag in the water she bounded away with a growl.   
Apparently not fazed by her reaction, he took a step toward her then another and another; the offensive, dripping cloth in hand.   
“Back off.” She warned. “I’m serious, Vilkas.”   
To her relief he paused but it was only to wring the cloth in his hands until the water stopped flowing.   
“This is a trick Kodlak taught us.” He said. “As an alternative until you can face a real bath or one of us makes the decision for you.”   
With that threat her eyes narrowed. “You will not put me in that water, do you understand?”  
“Promise.”   
Slightly mollified she allowed him to approach her. He started slow, lightly gliding the damp cloth over her cheek and across her forehead. She cringed at the clamminess the water was leaving behind but this was a far better prospect than being drenched.   
It took a while, especially since she kept flinching, but eventually he dropped the now soiled cloth to the floor in triumph.   
“See?” he teased. “Far more tolerable than a wet head, trust me.”   
Thelma laughed. Her hair was still a mess and probably stank but it wasn’t dripping wet and, right at this moment and time that was all she cared about.  
Vilkas brushed a stand of hair behind the point of her ear. “Understand,” he said. “That I am absolutely furious with you.” Despite his words, his voice was gentle then he cupped her chin in his hand.   
“Yes, I feel the rage.” Provoking. Not a good idea but it was what had come to the tip of her tongue. The orphanage mother had always said she lacked any sense of decorum or grace as had Brynjolf the last time she had whirled a dagger at his head but she wasn’t about to change now.   
Vilkas frowned letting his hand drop. “Of all the paths you could have taken, of everything you could have done, why this? To prove a point? Revenge on me? What?”  
Thelma gaped at him. “Do you think so little of me still?”  
The beginnings of a scowled crept onto his lips. “Answer me, elf. I am trying not to fight, I really am but I need a straight answer from you this time.”  
“If you want a straight answer,” she snapped. “Then ask a straight question. Don’t pick me apart and accuse me of anything and everything just to get some self-satisfaction. Is it so farfetched that I made the choice I made because I truly care about someone for the first time in my life?” As she spoke she knew her words to be true. Sure, there had been others in her past she had liked more than others but they had always had an ulterior motive or were too close to someone that did for her to truly care for them. Vilkas and Farkas were different because there was no doubt in her mind if she were in their position, they would do the same for her.   
“Tell me your reasoning for what you did.” She added.   
Vilkas hadn’t moved a muscle on face or body since her outburst but his eyes managed to convey confusion. “What did I do?”  
“I remember you telling me that you swore to Kodlak you wouldn’t change again until your condition was cured. Why did you do it tonight?”   
“My shield-sister was in trouble.”   
Shield-sister, huh? Thelma scowled like he’d called her the worst name possible. “Is that all?” she spat.   
“So you would do the same for Aela? Ria? God forbid, Njada? Is your oath that fickle?”   
The last part threw him over the edge and he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. “You damn well know I wouldn’t!” he snarled.   
Thelma wrapped her hands around his wrists, not caring if her nails caused him discomfort. “So why is it, shield-brother,” See how you like it. “That you cannot simply come out and say it?”  
Vilkas continued to burn holes in her with his gaze but at least they weren’t fighting. Their version of fighting, anyway…though, at this rate it wouldn’t be long. 

 

 

Vilkas did not let go of her shoulders and she did not let go of his wrists.  
“If that is what you want, elf, fine.” He snarled murderously. “I wanted to kill Aela and Skjor for not stopping you from making a dumb mistake and for letting you run off like that where gods knows what could have happened to you. You don’t know, cub” he added emphasis to the word. “What it’s like to wake up with human blood on your hands and the knowledge that you were responsible for an innocents death.”  
“I do, actually.” She spat but her voice lacked conviction. “Every day.”  
The burden in her words made his face soften. This woman had been an assassin; many people had met their fate at the end of her blade but those people’s deaths would have been assured regardless of who’s hand it was that dealt the final blow.   
Vilkas caressed her slender shoulder blades with his thumbs. “I misspoke.” He said. “My sword has taken many lives; bandits, wolves, mercenaries. Deep down I am aware these people may have families but they put themselves in that situation, they have chosen to do the things they do. It allows me to sleep at night.”  
The elf nodded slowly as if she understood. “But a merchant or a hunter, whose only crime is being in the wrong place at the wrong time…that, is different. The feelings are different and I was praying you wouldn’t have to deal with that.”  
“You know what?” she asked after a short silence. “When you rein in your inner prick…I actually like you.”  
At that Vilkas chuckled. “And when you leash your inner hellcat, I like you.” That wasn’t the least bit true, of course; he loved her feistiness. No other woman had punched him in the face. Twice.  
Since his hands were already on her shoulders, he pulled her into a full embrace. Even without the sheer bulk his brother possessed, Vilkas overshadowed the tiny elf. He figured his hands alone could encompass her waist and perhaps even touch fingers.  
“I am surprised you’ve gotten away with this, being so skinny.” He teased in her ear. “Tilma all but shovel fed Farkas and I when we first arrived and we weighed more than you.”  
“Are you calling me bony?” she asked with fake annoyance.   
“Underfed.” He amended before laying a ghost of a kiss just below her earlobe. “We can fix that.”   
“Mmm.” The elf purred sexily in his arms. “I’m picky, you know. Take’s me forever to warm up to the idea of new food. All the smells and textures…why would I want to dive right in?”  
Vilkas smiled, leaning his head back. “And yet, I get the feeling we are no longer discussing meals.”  
She returned his smile and rose to full height in order to plant a soft, promising kiss on his lips. “We never were, wolf.” 

 

Brynjolf’s lessons had been good for something after all, Thelma thought as she once again teased his lips with her own this time applying just enough pressure to earn her a sigh.   
With as little experience with men as she actually had, at least for now she could hide deftly behind a pair of skilled lips. What had his excuse been at the time? Oh yes, because a practiced kisser was distracting and, therefore, an easier target.  
Regardless, she remembered every one of the techniques she’d been taught and she had every intention of distracting her wolf.   
As their lips danced gracefully together she allowed her tongue to graze his skin as if seeking entrance. With a muted groan he widened his kiss for her and she for him. The slick hotness of his tongue probing inside her mouth was unlike anything else. Of course she had known what to expect but that she found so much pleasure in it when before she hadn’t surprised her.  
Thelma wrapped her arms around his neck and used him as leverage to hoist herself up, folding her legs around his waist and feeling his own leanly muscled arms slide around hers. Now that they were on equal ground and the kiss deepened in response.  
The melodic sounds of Vilkas’s pants and erratic breaths were driving her wild but only when she paused simply to listen did she realize he wasn’t the only one.   
For the heath of their lungs, Thelma broke their kiss and rested her cheek in the crook of his neck.   
“Am I heavy?” She teased.  
She felt the vibrations as he laughed. “You mean I am holding you? Since when?”   
She gave him a playful slap on the chest before nestling back in comfortably. The fact that he was not wearing his normal armor made basking in his warmth all the easier; she never wanted to move.   
“Thelma? Vilkas? Are you in there?”  
They snarled angrily in unison. “Someone had better be dead.” He growled.  
There was a choked, half-sob behind the door; Thelma immediately detached herself from Vilkas and flew across the room.   
“It’s Skjor,” Ria’s puffy red eyes met her and before she could react she was trapped in a weeping hug. Thelma winced, patting the crying Ria awkwardly on the back and making what she hoped was soothing, cooing sounds. Please stop crying. Please stop crying. Oh god the tears…  
It made her a terrible person. Here Ria was crying her eyes out and all she could think about was the water streaming down her shirt.   
Vilkas had appeared beside them and she could have ravished him right in the hallway for peeling Ria gently off her body.   
“Ria, what’s this about Skjor?” He asked, his voice grave.  
“Aela returned a few minutes ago,” she sobbed. “It…she said it was…bandits. He’s dead.”   
Thelma’s heart bottomed out. Bandits…  
“It’s horrible…she couldn’t even bring back the body.”  
“What? Why?” Probing questions and a grieving girl. No decorum indeed.   
“Aela…Aela said there wasn’t…there wasn’t enough to bring back.” Again she burst into tears but thankfully used Vilkas as shoulder to cry on instead of her. Thelma had never seen his face so low, so hollow but she didn’t miss the glint of disbelieve in his eye and for once they were on the same page.   
Dark elves are, by nature, suspicious and all her alarms were ringing. Something wasn’t right about this and he knew it to.   
“Ria.” Vilkas took her gently by her arms and held her at arm’s length but she wouldn’t stop sobbing. “Ria. Where is Aela?”  
Ria bit down on her lip to fight the tears. “With Kodlak. He wanted to speak with her alone.”   
Not surprising.“Listen to me very closely, Ria.” She got the girl’s attention by gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Find Torvar; ask him for his special brew and drink a lot of it. When he denies everything, tell him Thelma knows the main ingredient, he’ll give it to you then.”  
With a solemn nod Ria left and the both of them started down the hall. Farkas was already inside sitting across from a troubled Kodlak and next to Aela.   
“Ah.” Kodlak said softly. “I assume you’ve heard?”  
“We’ve heard…” Thelma started, staring at Aela who at least had the decency to look away. “Something.”   
“Those were not bandits you and Skjor found, were they?” Vilkas probed and Aela met his intense eyes with pride.  
“No.” She said. “It was the Silver Hand.”


	8. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to thank voltagelisa for their help with my formatting problem(yay italics!). Also want to thank everyone who's left a review because I love reading them...they make me smile.

 

Vilkas’s breaths came in angry puffs. It was never easy to lose a shield brother or sister but this was Skjor; a man that had taught him the meaning of fighting for an honorable cause, of defending his home and life with the end of his blade. Skjor had given him his first tankard of ale when he was twelve and handed him the water pale and rag when he had tossed it back up. Skjor was his brother; Aela his sister and he felt betrayed.

“If you had told me-” he started but Aela interrupted him.

“You would have attempted to talk us out of it.” she said. “Face it, Vilkas. Skjor embraced the wolf as I do. The Silver Hand would kill you without a single thought and yet you would allow them to live.”

Vilkas felt his anger rising and only tense but firm fingers on his palm stopped him from slapping Aela into oblivion.

The elf understands, he thought. And she also knows you would have regretted it, that’s why she stopped you.

“So be a beast.” He raged. “Friend or enemy, kill anyone that comes into your path; you would not be able to tell the difference. Are you even sure the Silver Hand killed Skjor or your own bloody claws?”

Aela jumped from her seat and the next thing he knew there was an arrow pointed straight at him.

“Do not lecture me!” she boomed. “We have all lost a brother.” The shadows shifted then the elf was no longer beside him but behind Aela with her curved dagger shaped around the huntress’s exposed neck.

“Lower the bow.” She hissed, just loud enough the others to hear.

He barely contained a smile. From being on the receiving end of her blades, Vilkas knew if the elf really had any intention of harming Aela then Aela would be dead. The chances of Aela knowing this, however, were next to none.

“ _Both_ of you lower your weapons.” Kodlak ordered. Neither did.

“Gladly.” The elf whispered maliciously. “But she will do so first.”

“Brother, Aela wouldn’t have hurt Skjor.” Farkas said; Vilkas heard the unease in his tone. Bashing strangers over the head with a mallet was cause for celebration in his twin’s world but his shield brothers and sisters arguing was never something he took well.

Vilkas forced his face to soften for his brother’s sake alone. “By lying she caused his death.”

“Regardless of how or why this tragedy occurred we need to be the family we are now more than ever. Drop your weapons, ladies.”

“Kodlak,” she protested.

“No, Aela. Now.” Kodlak demanded.

With obvious reluctance the bow was lowered and only then did the elf let hers fall as well. It was as if a switch had been triggered in her behavior; all the elf’s previous hostility had vanished, her stance open now that what she perceived a danger passed.

Aela, however, was fuming beneath her war paint. “He had no right…”

“Perhaps not,” Kodlak agreed. “But we all grieve differently and should say what’s on our minds before it has time to grow into something other than a thought.”

“Then let me say what’s on mine.” She challenged. “I know you are looking for a cure and I won’t do it nor will I help you. Why, then, would I ask Vilkas to aid me and Skjor in something _they_ would not approve of?”

“But Skjor is dead.” Farkas was staring intently at his feet with his massive hands clasped and hanging between his legs.

“Yes, Skjor is dead and…” Aela’s voice faltered. “There is nothing we can do.”

“Unfortunately very true.” Kodlak said sadly. “But we can honor his memory by not blaming one another. Aela is right, Skjor enjoyed the wolf blood and we all know he spoke fondly of his chosen afterlife.” He paused to laugh gruffly. “This is Skjor. If he were unhappy as a wolf for all eternity do you believe he would simply endure it? No.”

Vilkas considered the thought of Skjor being submissive to anyone with a smile.

“A warrior’s funeral will be held for Skjor tomorrow at noon.” Kodlak continued. “His body may not be with us but we can pay homage to his spirit.”

On this, everyone nodded.

“Tonight, however, I suggest an attempt at rest.” He said. “Thelma, would you please let the others know about Skjor’s funeral?”

Vilkas saw her scan him thoroughly before finally nodding her assent.

“If the two of you wish to speak alone, now is the time.” The old warrior said warningly then came to his feet. “I will go to Skyforge and…make the arrangements for the funeral.”

Vilkas leaned his back against the grain of the newly closed door and scowled. For the longest time, neither spoke but glared holes into one another instead.

“If I had told you,” Aela whispered finally. “What Skjor and I were planning, would you have helped us?”

“No.” He said simply. “I…want to say I would but…”

“Why?” she asked then added sourly. “As if the answer wasn’t obvious.”

Vilkas considered lying, telling her exactly what she wanted to hear even if it couldn’t be further from the truth. “Because I would not have left the elf alone, unarmed and bare of armor in the wild to play renegade wolf with the Silver Hand.”

Aela hesitated. “Yet if we could go back? Knowing what you know now….Skjor’s death…”

He shook his head. “No, Aela. Because it is clear you would do the same.”

“So this elf is so important to you that you would knowingly sacrifice the man who was your brother, your friend, your mentor in favor of her?”

“Skjor sacrificed himself!” he growled. “He died fighting for what _he_ believed in, not me. Ask yourself this, Aela…would he have wanted others to sacrifice themselves on his behalf? No, you knew him better than that.”

Aela frowned. “And so did you.”

 

 

 

Skjor’s funeral pyre had burned with a fire so bright that all of Whiterun could see and afterwards everyone had gone separate ways to grieve on their own. Except for Vilkas and Farkas who, as far as Thelma could tell, had simply sat side-by-side and not talking…. just sitting. For hours on end.

Thelma shed her armor, not really caring to keep it in a neat pile and slipped a men’s faded blue shirt over her head. It smelled of musk and time but it was large enough to cover her bottom and comfortable enough to sleep in.

No one had seen her slip away after Kodlak’s speech; they had all been too submerged in their grief to notice anything. In a way she was envious of them, of their feelings, of their tears.

Thelma had cried, not often but it happened, though never in grief. Skjor was a good man; an honorable man and he had been civil to her, even friendly at times yet to say she was depressed. Sad maybe…when she saw the looks of pain on the other’s faces. On Farkas’s face…

“ Mouse?”

Thelma barely stayed a disappointed sigh that had formed in hearing the wrong twin’s voice. But that would have hurt the bear-of-a-man’s feelings and he was hurting enough. Instead she turned to face him and gave him her best attempt at a comforting smile.

The bear in the doorway leaned his massive body against the wood as his eyes passed questioningly over her, barer than not, form lingering on her choice of clothing.

Suddenly self-conscious, she tried to bunch the fabric further down her legs and succeeded in another good inch of coverage.

“Did you want something?” she asked irritably.

Farkas pressed his lips together in a smirk and shook his head. “Vilkas noticed you left.” He said with a shrug. “He asked me to check on you…”

Thelma frowned. “Why not come himself if he was so worried?”

Farkas shrugged a little too casually. “Why’d you leave so early?”

Another pang of guilt rocked her. What could she say? That the reason she had left them to their mourning was because she had felt like she didn’t belong? All of them even Athis, a fellow dark elf, who seemed to care solely for himself harbored more grief and sadness for their fallen shield-brother than she. In all the held-back tears and words of care, respect and wisdom she had not a tear to shed or a word to say…

And it made her feel like a piece of shit, so she left.

“I’m tired.” She lied but both her voice and her face softened when she saw the look of sadness on the big twin’s face. “Farkas…I’m sorry, about Skjor. I know how much he meant to you and Vilkas.” In that context she meant every word; they were in pain over his passing and she was sorry that they had to experience the anguish that came from losing someone so close. Something she was sure she would never feel.

Farkas forced a smile for her. “I’m strong, Mouse. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Well don’t.” Thelma replied perhaps a slight sharper than she’d intended but she didn’t like people thinking she was weak. “I’m fine and if your brother sent you all the way down here to ask me that then you can tell him his answer is ‘go to hell’ until he yanks his lazy, drunken wolfy ass up out of that chair of his and asks me himself.”

Farkas immediately lowered his eyes to the floor and started to nudge something around with the toe of his boot. “I don’t think he would do that….he’s upset….”

“That is to be expected…” she started then saw a flicker of emotion pass over Farkas’s dirt-smudged face; a hint of some deeper meaning in his words.

Thelma connected the words, the hesitant tone and the pained expression getting angrier and angrier as she did.

“ _Do not_ tell me,” she hissed, Farkas cringed. “That your sour, accusatory, _hypocrite_ of a brother believes that this is my fault?”

Farkas bit his lip but held his stance. “Listen, before you decide to hurt him…” he started. “This is how Vilkas is. Always has been. We were brought to the Companions as little more than tots; as far as real family…we are all the other has. My brother might not be as big as me but he’s always taken care of me. When people would call me stupid or lie to me to get me to do something for them, Vilkas would play tuff…. put them in their place.”

As angry as she was, Thelma found it slightly amusing that the smaller Vilkas once protected this giant of a man that stood before her now. Though, it made sense…Farkas was a powerful warrior but he had a soft heart and there were a lot of people in this world that could and would exploit that.

And you should know, she scoffed at herself; you used to be one of them.

“See, Kodlak is as close to a father to us as anyone can be but we raised ourselves, Mouse. Except…” Farkas peered away in embarrassment. “Vilkas raised me too, not just himself and he’s never cried.”

Never cried? Were there people that never cried? Even Thelma the assassin/thief/cold killer cried, albeit selfishly, but it counted.

“No one never cries, Farkas.” She said.

He shrugged. “Vilkas doesn’t. I think he thought he couldn’t since he was the protector and he’s never really grown out of that even when I grew out of all my clothes.” He finished with a chuckle.

Thelma didn’t smile; she was still too furious at Vilkas.

Farkas sighed and pushed himself off the doorframe. Before she knew it she was enveloped in a bear hug of massive proportions. She hissed.

All Farkas did was laugh. “Maybe I should change your name from Mouse to Snake…”

Crushed against his chest, she could barely raise her arms enough to get the leverage she desperately needed to escape the embrace. Thelma wasn’t a hugger, yet people kept doing so. To her, a hug was an intimate gesture…to be done in private. Two bodies mashed together, arms entwined…it just seemed like this should be so. Occasionally, lately, she would hug for comfort or some such but it was rare and awkward.

And, she sighed inwardly; Farkas was just a very hands-on friend. He was like this with everyone. It was because they were friends she hadn’t emasculated him yet.

“Don’t be so angry, little Mouse.” He whispered over her head.

“How can I not be?” she spat. “Vilkas is so hot and cold. I realize I’m not…not the best at…. things but-”

Farkas shook his head. “Forgive him.”

“What?!”

Farkas stayed calm despite her fury. “Vilkas has a lot of anger, so do you…maybe…” he hesitated.

“You know how venom can be used to cure snake bites?”

Thelma understood what he was getting at and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Venom cures venom?”

His burly hands fell on her shoulders and gently pushed her just an inch away. “You could both be happy.”

She glared at him indignantly. “Or we could slaughter each other.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think so little Mouse.”

Farkas gave her a rough but friendly pat on the back then let her go. “Alright, I’ll stop bothering you.”

Thelma crossed her arms with a smile watching him walk away from her only to pause at the door with a snap of his fingers.

“What?” she asked, arching a single black brow.

“I was trying to remember where I’ve seen that shirt before…”

“Oh,” she shrugged. “I found it stuffed in the dresser; it’s obviously unloved so I didn’t see the big deal…why? Is it yours?” If it was then it was coming off because that was in a realm of weird she did not want to travel.

“Mine? Oh no.” he laughed. “Mine would swallow a mouse like you whole. Tilma made that for Vilkas for his eighteenth birthday…it was always a little too tight on him. Night.”

Then she was left in silence. In light of this new information, she considered tearing the shirt off her body and throwing it in the fire. Just because…

Instead she found herself carefully lifting the shoulder of the garment to her nose. Beyond the musk of being shoved to the back of a dresser for who knows how many years she _could_ imagine the now abrasive cotton snuggly wrapped over Vilkas’s warrior chest. The cozy fit around his shoulders and biceps…

Thelma dropped the fabric like it was on fire, furious with herself. Your mad at him, remember?

Blaming her for Skjor’s death….

Oh how she would make him pay for that one but not tonight. Tonight, she needed sleep so she wouldn’t act on the urge to murder Vilkas in his.


	9. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting an extra chapter this week just because it's a slow, slow, slow work day. FYI, this chapter is definitely unsafe for the kiddies.   
> Thanks for reading and I hope you like this chapter...and, please, let me know if you do because while I do write mature scenes for my other fics, this is the first to see the light of day so to speak.

The next morning, Vilkas awoke in a poor mood and the storm gathering overhead did nothing to lighten it as he viciously attacked a training dummy. It was a decent energy release given no other option and, as he was recovering from a hangover, possibly a form of self-punishment.

Vilkas struck what would be the shoulder blade of the dummy then followed that up by immediately bashing it head-on with his shield.

Gods help him; he was turning into his brother! Or at least he was thinking like him.

Last night, Vilkas had noticed the elf had gone. He had not seen her leave, more like felt her absence as a hole in room. Of course, by then, he had drowned himself in so much ale the population had doubled.

With a deafening roar, he attacked the target again as last night’s conversation with Farkas replayed in his head.

_Vilkas paused mid-drink as he noticed the elf’s absence and scoffed into his mug before taking a giant gulp._

_“What?” His twin was hardly as drunk as him._

_“Take a look around, tell me who’s missing.”_

_Vilkas watched over the rim of his tankard as Farkas scanned the room half-heartedly._

_“Dark skin, body thinner than a sword and a tongue just as sharp.” He supplied irritably._

_“Thelma…” His twin said. “It’s only mid-evening.”_

_Vilkas set his mug down gently on the table. The elf hated being followed but…_

_“Farkas,” he swished his half-empty mug from side to side. “Will you do me a favor and check on the elf?”_

_Farkas leaned back in his chair and looked at his twin quzzingly. “You know I will but…why?”_

_Peering into his mug intently. “We would fight.” He said with a shrug. “Brother I…I can’t help but wonder…” In a fit of rage he’d already threw the blame for Skjor’s death on Aela._

_Skjor, in the end, was responsible for himself and his own actions but Vilkas could not help but follow the trail of events that had lead up to such a tragedy. Every time he came to the same conclusion; her._

_Why was Skjor dead? The Silver Hand killed him._

_Why did the Silver Hand kill him? Skjor and Aela attacked them._

_Why did Skjor and Aela attack them? The Companions just happened to be in the same area._

_And why were they in the same area? The elf was insane, became a werewolf despite his warnings and ran off forcing all of them to go look for her._

_Damn it._

_“I can’t help but wonder,” he continued. “If Skjor would still be alive if not for her stupidity.”_

_Farkas gaped at him. “No. Vilkas, don’t. This isn’t her fault; the Silver Hand killed Skjor.” There was a pleading in his twin’s eyes that made him envious._

_Vilkas wished he had that much faith in the foolish elf. Which begged the question, why was she not with his brother instead? So what if the elf wasn’t Farkas’s picture of the perfect woman? Come to think of it, she wasn’t his typical attraction either; too skinny, completely stubborn with eyes like a river of blood._

_Then why did the thought of her and his brother in a lover’s embrace make him want to rip Farkas’s head off? They connected on a different level. They worked._

_“Please, just see if she is alright.” With any luck either good or bad, this might spark something between them. Just one sensual hug, he thought gritting his teeth, or a passionate kiss…_

_And gods could she kiss. Vilkas’s knuckles grew white around his mug imagining the two of them doing half of what she and Vilkas had done._

_But Farkas was better for her. Farkas was the one who could make her laugh so easily, the one who could give her softness and gentleness, the one who could love her the way she deserved and not doubt her._

_Not like this._

_Farkas nodded reluctantly and stood. “Brother?”_

_Vilkas grunted in response, fighting the urge to jump up, run out and envelope the elf in a sea of kisses she would never recover from. Which would be perfect until reality set in and she read his mind on his face then they would fight. Again. Neither of them deserved that._

_“Do you love her?”_

_Vilkas strained to keep a passive face. “No.”_

_That small two-letter word knocked the breath out of him as sure as a shield to the chest. Thankfully his ever- observant twin did not notice._

_“If you want her, take her.” Vilkas said through gritted teeth. An accomplishment given what he had truly wanted to say which was ‘touch the elf and lose a testicle.’_

_Farkas gave a curt nod, took one last gulp of ale and turned his back to him. That was the hardest part…letting him walk away, knowing where he was going._

_After twenty minutes of Farkas’s absence Vilkas started to drink more and more as his mind dredged up image after image of the elf’s tiny body writhing beneath his brother’s massive one. At some point he had welcomed blissful darkness. Torvar and Athis had carried him to his bed._

Vilkas spun with a fierce scream; his blade passing cleanly through the burlap and straw neck of the practice dummy. With his enemy felled, he felt the tension loosen as if it had been a real victory.

Huffing and panting, Vilkas moved to collect the head but when he knelt something rammed him from the side, tackling him to the ground.

Too shocked to register the attack, he laid motionless just long enough for his assailant to straddle him and pin his wrists at his hips.

“We need to talk.” The elf’s agitated voice sent shivers of excitement down his spin. Their position helped though he wasn’t about to let her have the upper hand.

Vilkas bucked her off with his hips and rolled into a feral fighting stance; his legs braced one knee to the ground and one hand clutching his sword while the other palmed the earth.

“This is how you talk?” he teased for a moment he thought he saw a smile play over her thinned lips.

“No.” she said. “This is how _we_ talk. Since we’re both so damn stubborn we need some sense knocked into us.” At that, she leaped and he barely dodged her. The elf rolled and was on all fours ready to pounce in the blink of an eye.

“It was so very _kind_ of you to send your _brother_ to check on me.” She snarled and jumped at him this time barreling into him full force. Vilkas held his ground but slid backwards as he managed to wrap his arms around her and sling her over his shoulder.

The elf thrashed in his grip; her fists banged fruitlessly against his back plate while her legs kicked out wildly.

“Let me down you bastard!”

“Why? So you can attack me again? I think not.” There was too much amusement in his voice to hide and she twisted harder; he almost lost grip. All her fighting excited him on a level no other woman had; so intense that the only place he wanted to take her was the bed but apparently they needed to talk. Somewhere they wouldn’t make a scene.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ria sullenly exchanging gold with Torvar. The elf took his distraction as an opportunity to shimmy down enough to jab the soft spot behind his knee where armor didn’t cover.

Vilkas stumbled forward and she pushed off him with an extra kick to the back of the head that forced him into the ground.

Between his throbbing head and pride he heard the elf’s labored breaths as she stood before him in glory.

“Now that I have your interest.” she huffed. “Your room. Now.”

Vilkas managed himself to his knees and saw Ria gleefully tossing the previously exchanged gold in the air.

“Whatever you say, elf.” She moved to turn and he caught her ankle, bringing her down with him. “As soon as you get back up.”

 

 

 

Thelma slammed the door to Vilkas’s room shut trying desperately to hang on to Farkas’s words.

_Forgive him._

Strangely enough, she wanted to but she needed to know why.

“Before you say _anything_ ,” she spat. “Farkas didn’t tell me I figured it out. So tell me, wolfy, how _I_ killed Skjor.”

Vilkas eyes shown with barely contained…something. It wasn’t anger. Anger she could handle, this was different.

“Did I or did I not make it clear that the werewolf blood was a curse?” he scowled. “Yet you submit anyway and run off into the dead of night. Had Aela and Skjor not come looking for you-”

Thelma’s lips parted in a rebuttal that fell silent as his words sunk in.

“Why not blame the sword that dealt the killing blow then?” she whispered. “Why me?”

Her arms shook with fury and the shivers of truth in his words. Would Skjor have been anywhere near the Silver Hand if she had not lost control and run off the way she had?

No. This was not her fault. Screw Vilkas and his damned theories. She had not forced Skjor to engage the Silver Hand in battle.

“Why blame anyone?” Thelma questioned angrily. “Why must _everything_ be someone’s fault? I admit that I can’t even begin to understand the grief you feel at losing Skjor but…”

“I don’t blame you.” He whispered.

Thelma narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Yet you just said-”

Vilkas shook his head. “Those are the facts and you are the end result but you did not kill him and, for some reason, I cannot hold you any more responsible than anyone else.”

That was….not what she’d expected. And did not mean she was letting him off the hook.

“Then why send _Farkas_ to comfort me?” she hissed.

His eyes shot up, enflamed in heat. “Comfort you?” he demanded. “What happened?”

Thelma smirked. “Jealous, wolfy?”

Vilkas tore his gaze to the floor. “Yes.” He admitted. “But I can…I _will_ handle it. Farkas and I are very different.”

“That’s it?!” Thelma glared at him, stunned. She crossed her arms over her chest. “And if I told you we had wild, insane comfort sex?”

Vilkas’s jaw set tight; his eyes dimmed. “Good.” He said roughly. “My twin is a good man. You two deserve each other.”

Get a handle on those rains, wolf! “Gods! Nothing happened, Vilkas.” She snapped. “I’m not a whore like those tavern wenches that crawl all over you.”

Steam could have risen from his irises. “I never said you were.”

“Oh?” she raised a brow. “Then what else would you call a woman who is in your embrace one day and in your brother’s the next?”

“Intelligent.”

Thelma threw her head back in exasperation.

“Farkas is sweet and gentle.” He said as if reading a script. “He’s better than me.”

“And if I don’t want sweet and gentle?” she snapped, grabbing for his waist and forcing him closer. “I happen to enjoy our…tiffs.” Thelma rose to her tiptoes and leaned into his ear.

“Want to know what Farkas said to me last night?” she whispered, her lips brushing his skin with every word. Only after she felt him nod did she continue.

“First I have to set the scene, Vilkas.” She admonished. “Picture me standing in a large, blue shirt that falls _just_ to my thighs. Now…picture me wearing _only_ that.” Vilkas shuddered against her and she smiled. She might not have much experience with men but this was easy.

“See, I tried to pull it down but you know how springy those tunics can be…it just kept riding back up. Not that your brother seemed interested.” At this her wolf growled and she punished him for his interruption with a rough nip to the earlobe.

“Now, now.” She teased harshly. “Don’t make me leash you. You know I will.”

Vilkas’s chest vibrated with a low rumble. “Just try.” He challenged.

“Maybe later. I’m telling a story remember? Farkas did hug me, you know....” She let her voice fall to a seductive purr. “Brought me in close…pressed me against his chest.” Letting her words sink in was like the sweetest candy and when his hold tightened on her she knew to continue. “So there we were; Farkas’s thick, muscled arms around my waist, my cheek flush against his warm, rock-hard chest and do you want know what he asked me to do?”

“No…” Vilkas growled. Thelma almost laughed; this was too easy.

Thelma snaked her arms around his neck, feeling his increasingly labored breaths on her skin. “Forgive you.” She whispered.

“What?”

With a swift chuckle she lowered herself, feet flat on the ground and made a show of trying to escape his unyielding embrace. “Your brother asked me to forgive you for your natural state of being an asshole.”

“Perhaps…” she purred. “I have _entertained_ the idea of forgiveness.”

Vilkas gave her a suspicious look. “I haven’t apologized.”

“Then do so.” Her finger trailed a vain down his neck.

A short half-smile turned his lips upwards. “Very well, you have my sincerest apologies.”

“No, not this time.” She said shaking her head. “Work for it, Vilkas. I’m sick of letting you off the hook so easy.”

“Easy?” he said, clearly enjoying this. “Before was easy? So what would you have me do?”

Thelma shrugged. “When you think of something, you know where to find me.”

It became increasingly apparent, however that she wasn’t going anywhere unless he allowed her to. She peered at him dangerously about to command him to let her go when he surprised her by falling slowly to his knees before her.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, grinding his teeth. “Me on my knees?”

“That depends on what you intend to do down there.” Thelma bit her lip. Of all the…gods, had she really just said that?

A shiver quaked her as his palms caressed her in sweeping arcs, finally resting at her hips. His fingers hooked into the leather ties holding her pants to the rest of her armor and worked them lose.

Her breath quickened as gradually more and more of her was revealed. “Vilkas…”

“Shh.” He chastised. “Apologizing remember?”

Before she could say or do anything she felt three coarse fingers brush against her inner thigh and travel up, pressing just the right spot through her small cloths.

Thelma gasped, clutching his hair in her fists. Jolts of pleasure erupted from her core as he continued to caress her in short, tender pulses. Soon her gasps became fevered pants, her thighs tightened in expectant release when Vilkas pulled away.

Thelma hissed her unhappiness at his insanely horrible timing, getting only a gravelly chuckle in return.

“Not yet, elf.” He whispered, laying a feathery kiss at the juncture of her hip. “I have a lot to apologize for.”

Chilly air hit her as the thin, damp cloth was, none to gently, torn away. She fought the instinctual urge to slap him for surprising her like that but…she didn’t want him to stop. Instead she scrunched her fingers in his hair encouragingly hoping he would touch her again.

In a way, it worked; a calloused hand was placed firmly on her bottom, pulling her closer while the other teased up and down her thigh, played heavily across her prominent pelvic bones.

“When we are finished here,” he hummed. “I will personally oversee your eating of an entire hog.”

Thelma scowled. Holding her satisfaction hostage was not going to get him in her good graces.

“The state of my body doesn’t matter to me,” she said, though every other word cracked with arousal. “I am no beautiful maiden. Never have been and never will be.”

That was true. Sweet fair maidens would swoon at the amount of scars Thelma had accumulated over the years…not that she thought any man would ever see her in whole. But Vilkas had already seen her after her change and he hadn’t seemed to mind then.

Thelma’s lids slid lazily over her crimson eyes as Vilkas kissed along her thigh, an inch away from where she desperately needed him to be. His tongue flicked her taunt skin and she was suddenly thankful she had forced herself to engage in a necessary half-bath involving mainly soap and a damp towel.

Suddenly his probing tongue gently grazed her throbbing core making her cry out. The wolf devouring her growled, lapping at her with a fierce intensity that threatened to blow her apart at the seams. Merely seconds later she was thrashing and writhing in his firm hold as he worked her through the most powerful ending of her life.

Recovering from the pleasurable assault, Thelma balanced herself on Vilkas. Gods…that was amazing…

Another, gentler kiss was pressed at her hip. “You are beautiful, elf and you know it.”

“I…” she didn’t know how to react to that. This wasn’t the first time he’d said it but, honestly, she’d thought he was joking or just being a prick for pricks sake. It never crossed her mind that he might have actually meant it.

Vilkas took her wrists and urged her down so that she too was on her knees before he kissed her lightly on the lips. “At a loss for words, elf? Never thought I would see the day.”

Thelma narrowed her eyes and pushed him playfully watching him tumble onto the floorboards then she was above him. “Lose the metal.” She commanded. Vilkas seemed only too happy to oblige her, removing all his heavy armor down to a flimsy tunic and thin leather pants.

She pounced on him again, meshing her lips with his. The hard sign of his arousal pressed against her bottom and she wiggled purposely just to hear him skip a breath.

Their tongues dueled for power, breaking only so she could nibble on his lip. Thelma wanted them red as a ripe apple for all of Jorrvaskr to see. When they were plump and irritated enough for her taste, she let her hand dance over his hips and behind her to stroke his needy length through his leathers.

Vilkas moaned, bucking his hips to her touch. She smiled; this was something she knew how to do.

Thelma inched her body down bit by bit, laying heated kisses along the way; marking her territory. Coming to her destination, she loosened the ties of his leathers, reached in and pulled him out.

Vilkas barely fit in her hand, a far cry from Brynjolf. Not that the thief was tiny but the man she gripped now was longer and a bit wider.

Thelma snapped herself out of her daze before Vilkas could wonder why she hesitated. Just as she’d been taught, she worked her hand at a snail’s-pace up his pink shaft listening to him moan. As she approached his tip she sped up, using her wrist to guide her palm up and down until she noticed his fists ball at his side and released him.

Fire and lust shot from his eyes and Thelma simply smiled. “Simple payback.” She whispered then lowered her lips to his engorged tip. Using her hands to massage his base, she continued to stimulate him with clever use of her mouth and tongue. Vilkas bucked once though not hard and with barely enough force to push even half an inch of himself into her mouth but she immediately stopped her ministrations to make it very clear that _she_ was in charge. The warrior took her hint and settled down for her to continue.

Honestly, his stamina was impressive but, then again, so was her resolve. The moment she took him in deeper he broke, his release blasting into the back of her throat and she swallowed the salty liquid on instinct.

Thelma drew her lips away with an airy sound and was even kind enough to tuck him back inside his pants before crawling up his body to nibble on his jaw.

“Gods, elf…” Vilkas was breathing so hard she simply had to beam with pride. “Do I want to know why you’re so good at that?”

Her body stiffened hoping he would drop it. When he became rigid beneath her, she knew he’d figured out the answer for himself.

“That damned thief, right?” He growled as she nodded. Even half-naked and on the floor, she nestled into his side and draped a slender arm over his heavily rising and falling chest. “More than a teacher, huh?”

“No, Brynjolf was my mentor; I was young and I trusted him. Turns out I shouldn’t have but, then, I learned from that as well. Besides, he made it more than clear we were not lovers.” For Vilkas’s sake she’d leave out the ‘teaching her to please men for distraction’ part.

“What else did the bastard teach you?” he asked in a tone that told her to walk this line carefully or a certain red-headed thief would wind up mysteriously mauled to death in the streets of Riften.

Thelma attempted a laugh to lighten the mood then, when that failed, began to leisurely stroke his muscles beneath his tunic. “Nothing else, Vilkas. Just kissing and….” She didn’t think she needed to finish.

Vilkas was stoic in thought beside her so she jabbed him with a finger. “Are you complaining?” she added irritably.

A shadow of a blush passed over his face. “No.”

“Then shut the hells up and kiss me, wolf.” Vilkas laughed, rolling onto his side to capture her lips.

“Am I forgiven?” He asked between kisses.

“For now.” She answered; he sighed. “Make no mistake though, I _will_ be coming with you and Farkas tomorrow to fight the hags. Non-negotiable.” Vilkas frowned but she reached up and pinched his mouth shut. _“Non-negotiable.”_ She growled. Never mind that you and your brother attempted to hide your intentions tomorrow _from me,_ she thought bitterly. As if they really thought that would work.

“Elf…” his voice was soft but strained as he took her arm and brought it to his lips. “You’re just a cub yet.”

Thelma glared at him. “Perhaps you misunderstand the meaning of non-negotiable?” his lips quirked up and she persisted. “Tell me, if the roles were reversed would you not do this for me?”

“And I am a seasoned werewolf.” He argued.

“It is a simple question.” She said, circling his hard nipple with her finger. “Yes or no.”

“Yes…” Thelma couldn’t be sure if he was answering her or simply enjoying what she was doing. Either way, she’d take it.

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

Sun was setting on their first day of travel. A fire was blazing bright and healthy with two small rabbits roasting on a makeshift spit. And if Aela had come, Vilkas mused rotating the stick, these rabbits would be a deer.

While deadly with knives and shadows, the elf was no hunter. In fact, he was noticing more and more how uncomfortable she appeared to be in the wild. If he thought back on the few missions he had been with her, they had never set up camp but pushed for the nearest inn even if that traveling a bit into the night.

Tonight however, she hadn’t been given a choice since the nearest civilization was Markarth and they would not arrive there until well after sunrise tomorrow.

“Really,” Farkas’s voice boomed. “The saber cat’s paw was twice the size of my hand!”

Vilkas smiled to himself. He couldn’t count on two hands the times he had heard his twin tell the saber cat story and the size of the animal only got larger with each telling but the elf was grinning.

“Impressive.” She clapped. “But I’ll see your massive saber and raise you a two-ton dragon.”

Vilkas nearly lost grip on the rabbits. “A dragon?!”

Crimson eyes fell on him, eyebrow raised. “Do you not believe me capable?” there was no anger, but challenge in her voice.

“That depends,” Farkas said gravely. “How mad did it make you?”

Some might doubt his brother’s intelligence but he was far from stupid.

The elf shot his brother a glare that, honestly, Vilkas was a little disappointed in. This glare barely registered on the scale of what he had earned in the past.

“The dragon attacked Winterhold and I wasn’t the only one to fight it. I was there on…business.” the elf’s hesitation in using the word made Vilkas wonder exactly what kind of ‘business’ it was. The elf used to be an assassin, had she been there to kill someone?

Don’t make that matter, he told himself. It’s all in her past; she’s not that person anymore…

As her lips moved recounting details of the battle Vilkas studied her face thoughtfully; noticed a flash of emotion when telling of another’s death. Three guards had died in the attack, one barely a man. The elf had kept under the beast’s wing as much as possible but in the end…

“I screwed up,” she said. “Sidestepped a little too far to the right when I sunk my dagger into the joint of its wing and when the limb flung out it hit me full on. Last thing I remember is being thrown through the air; snow falling all around me…” her voice fell to little more than a whisper. “Thought I was dead.”

Farkas tore off another hunk of meat of the cooked rabbit and shoved it into his mouth. “What were you thinking about, while you were in the air?”

Vilkas elbowed his brother hard but Farkas only gave him an irritated grunt.

The elf shrugged, poking the fire with a thin stick. “To be honest,” she scoffed. “Nothing. Who would I think about? I had no family, no friends, no husband, no children. My name is a like a cold,” she spat in disgust. “People catch it but when it’s gone, they soon forget it ever was.”

His twin’s face fell as his surely had and Farkas draped a thick arm around the elf’s shoulders. It was friendly, not the least bit romantic and as long as he kept telling himself that, he would be fine.

“Not us.” Said Farkas.

The elf gave a wan smile then rose her eyes to connect with his as if asking for silent confirmation. He nodded, never leaving the blood red of her irises alight with oranges and blues from the flames. The sight made his lower half come alive.

She bit down on her bottom lip, a habit she seemed to have when she was unsure of what to say.

“When I…” she stumbled. “ When I woke up it was three days later with a sidesplitting pain in my lower belly. Apparently, my recovery or lack thereof was being overseen by the Jarl’s own doctor; a priest of Mara. He told me that I had fallen onto a jagged piece of iron from something the dragon had destroyed but that the beast was dead because of me, because _I_ wounded his wing so badly he couldn’t fly and the guards took over from there. Said I was a hero…” she sneered.

Farkas patted her reassuringly on the shoulder but Vilkas simply watched. The sharp lines of her face conveyed disgust, loathing, sadness and the reason slowly began to dawn on him.

“To them, you were.” Vilkas said evenly. “By aiding in killing that dragon you saved their wives and children, their homes. Not everything is black and white…there are occasionally gray areas.” He knew she understood by the snarl upon her lips.

_I was a murderer._ She mouthed for his eyes only; Farkas remained blissfully unaware. _Did not deserve…_

Vilkas stripped a piece of meat from the roasted animal and replied, pretending to chew. _You saved lives._

The elf sighed as Farkas tugged on her shoulder. “What happened next?”

She shrugged casually. “The Jarl offered me the title of Thane which I readily, whole-heartedly and probably a bit unorthodoxly refused.”

“Unorthodoxly?” this twin probed.

“Yes. I ran. Well, hobbled mostly since there were thirty-two stitches starting at the bottom of my navel and ending on a curve near the base of my back. A few of them popped and I had to redo them myself; not pleasant. Potions never seemed to touch it, another priest I went to see thought whatever I fell on may have been enchanted. I still have the ugly scar.”

“Can we see?”

Vilkas tossed a section of bread at his twin with a snarl as a warning.

“I can show him if I so wish.” The elf snapped at him. “It’s my body, Vilkas. I do what I want with it.”

“Listen, you don’t really need-” Farkas started.

“Fine,” he seethed, cutting his brother off. “Would you like a table to dance on as well?” As the words tumbled out he knew he had gone too far.

Her jaw dropped as Farkas sent him an icy glare. “If you are so adamant in your belief that I spread my legs for every man I see then it must be true, yes?”

“No. I misspoke.” He argued. “I…”

“Am a jealous prick?” she finished as Farkas squirmed awkwardly beside her. “Note taken.” Then she shimmied away from his twin’s half-embrace and collected her bedroll angrily.

“I am going to sleep.” She announced. Vilkas watched her stride over to his brother and lay a gentle hand on his wrist…on purpose. “Wake me on my shift.” She told him then, when he nodded, sauntered away behind a protruding rock without another word.

Vilkas banged his fist into the earth not even noticing his twin coming to sit at his side. “Brother?”

He grunted; Farkas frowned.

“Brother…I’m not trying to steal her from you.” He whispered just loud enough for Vilkas to hear. “I love her but…differently…like I love you.”

Feeling more an ass for his brother’s words, he patted his twin on the thigh. “It isn’t your fault. It’s mine.” He assured him. “The elf makes me…I don’t see straight with her. That woman’s so full of curves and twists that I try to make sense and…” And I fail, he continued silently, miserably.

“What’s there to make sense of? You know…” his brother said coupled with a low chuckle. “Wolves mate for life, Aela told me that once.”

“Is there a point to telling me this?” Vilkas asked irritably.

He shrugged. “We’re wolves, brother. Wolves don’t try to understand a mate; its raw instinct, they let it happen.”

Vilkas was mildly surprised by his brother’s sense of philosophy…even if the words were simple. “But we’re not wolves.” He scolded. “We’re human.”

His twin made a noncommittal motion of his head. “Seems to work for them. They’re happy.” Then Farkas gave him a playful punch in the shoulder that threatened to knock him over. “Not sulking by the fire while their female sleeps without them.”

Vilkas sighed, his mouth open to reply when a glint of metal reflecting off the fire caught his eyes.

“Farkas move!” Thank the gods for his brother’s act-now–think-later aptitude as he flung himself to safety just as the assailant’s sword came down.

Both twins drew their blades. Vilkas scanned the dark wasteland beyond, barely making out at least half a dozen figures closing in on them.

As the closest attacker let out a cry and swung, Vilkas barely caught the blade on the edge of his shield and was just about to counter-strike when something whistled passed his ear and a dagger was buried deep within their attacker’s skull. Suddenly, seemingly out of the darkness, the elf appeared wrenching her dagger free from the dead body.

Vilkas nodded his thanks only to be ignored as she leaped at the next nearest enemy. Movement at his heels sent him spinning and he slashed a wide gash across the man’s barely armored chest then followed it up by slamming his shield onto the side of his head. With this one felled, Vilkas quickly scanned the site for his brother. Farkas had just skewered another on the end of his massive steel while the elf held her own against a scantily clad, barbaric looking female.

An arrow shot out from the darkness, barely scraping his shoulder plate. Vilkas followed the trail with his eyes to see a man, as big as or possibly even bigger than his brother charging at him. For a giant the man was fast and Vilkas only just missed the downward slash of the man’s enormous sword as he jumped out of the path of the charge.

The man growled, raising his battering ram weapon for a second attack with tree-trunk arms. Vilkas cursed the gods, once again just managing to escape a gory death.

Before the man could raise his sword again, Vilkas made a quick stab at the massive man’s wrist. His angry pain-filled roar shook the night and his other arm knocked the wind out of the warrior as it connected with his gut and sent him sprawling to the ground weaponless.

Vilkas rolled the man’s first punch and it connected with the earth instead of his jaw then he lashed out, clipping his attacker’s scar-marred cheek. The giant hardly flinched.

A kick to his side made Vilkas growl in pain; the metal armor meant to protect him buckled under the force of the man’s inhuman strength, digging into his injured side. Red clouded his vision; he felt his teeth wanting to grow, his skin itching to release the beast at bay.

Time slowed down. He saw his brother ram his fist into the face of an archer before running him through and immediately moving to clash swords with another. More and more enemies poured from the shadows, double what he initially suspected.

The elf. Where was the elf?

Another blow connected with his skull making him see white. Ringing filled his ears.

There was no holding it back. The wolf squirmed to the surface and a feral roar tore from his throat.

 

 

 

Covered in blood both hers and others, Thelma screamed as she sunk her blade deeply into a muscular female’s chest. Without hesitation she withdrew her dagger and jumped over the slumping body.

Vilkas was on the other side of camp, matching unfair blows against a male descended from giants. Farkas, who had also noticed, had all but pushed her toward his twin as he took over her current fight. If he had been anyone else she would have protested but two on one for Farkas was hardly breaking a sweat.

When she saw the brute of a man’s warhammer fist slam into Vilkas’s temple she snarled and sped up. Suddenly the atmosphere changed; a feeling something deep inside her had sensed before. Vilkas, unmoving on the ground, began a low growl that turned into a bone-shaking roar as his body doubled over.

The wolf was coming.

Thelma saw the enormous man standing over Vilkas raise his fist for the final blow; seemingly unaffected by his victim’s strange behavior. Too far away to do anything else, she readied her bloodied dagger and let loose. The blade sunk into the brute’s arm like butter and he yowled with pain.

Vilkas changed before her eyes. It was the first time she had seen him as a wolf; his fur was a warm dark brown unlike Farkas’s midnight black and he was not quite as large but the image was enough to stagger and shock his attacker who, faced with a werewolf, was attempting to retreat.

Claws caught the brutes shin, forcing him to tumble forward and in the blink of an eye Vilkas was on him. Thelma watched in morbid fascination the way Vilkas’s wolf muscles twisted and bulged as he pinned the man to the ground. A howl sounded in her ears and she saw him clamp his jaws into the man’s corded neck.

“Werewolf!” a male called behind her. She spun, snarling ready to protect her wolf at all costs. Farkas used the distraction to slay the crier but the others chose to focus their attacks on the wolf.

Thelma tripped one of the three left and while they stumbled, stabbed her lone dagger into the base of their skull. Wolf Vilkas slashed through the second’s throat and kept clawing even as the body fell. There was only one left and Farkas took care of him.

Breathing deeply, she approached the beast; blood dripped from both his jaws and his claws.

“Wait.” Farkas gripped her hard, pulling her back.

She glared at him, confused. “It’s Vilkas.”

He shook his head. “Unwilling changes are different. Right now, he’s more wolf than my brother.”

As his warning echoed in her ears; Vilkas, the wolf, turned. Piercing yellow eyes fell on her and the beast stalked to the left, circling them but never taking his eyes off her.

Farkas drew protectively closer to her but she laid a hand on his wrist. This didn’t feel threatening to her, if anything the wolf seemed hesitant to approach her. But his ears stood erect, his fur bristled as if on edge…his tail wagged.

“Vilkas?” She called. The wolf paid no mind and she stepped forward.

Farkas yanked her back, eliciting a gum-barring snarl from the wolf.

“Let me go.” She warned quietly. “If he was going to attack me, he already would have.”

It was with hesitance but Farkas finally released her. Thelma took a deep breath and slowly approached the beast.

The wolf stopped moving; his furry chest rising and falling heavily with his breaths. Before she could close the distance between them he fell onto all fours causing her to recoil until she noticed he hadn’t moved.

Whatever the form, she chided herself; this is Vilkas, a man who would never hurt her. Physically. He’s a massively insensitive _ass_ but he wouldn’t kill her.

Even on all fours he was as tall as her and Thelma braved the last few steps with what she hoped was a confident air.

“Vilkas…” she said. Nothing.

The wolf’s head twitched and she forced herself to be still as he sniffed her skin, her hair. Steaming breaths warmed her skin as his wet snout cooled it. She found herself shivering and not from fear.

Oh hells, what was wrong with her? But her own wolf was responding, wanting her to touch him.

Lightly and very carefully, the wolf pushed his muzzle into her neck. Thelma gave Farkas a questioning look and he shrugged, entranced.

Another, harder, push at her chest forced her to steady herself on the beast. His ears went horizontal and she quickly released him. Damn.

The energy had changed; the wolf was on the edge so she did the first and only thing that came to mind. Thelma leaned in dangerously close and gently nudged his massive head with hers. That seemed…right.

Apparently it was because he instantly calmed, nuzzling her back and she suddenly understood his behavior.

The Divines must have a sense of humor.

“Farkas…”

The beast pressed his wet nose against her ear and licked her jaw. The uncontained air of amusement in Farkas’s stance told her he too had figured it out.

The wolf was courting her.

“Vilkas, listen to me.” She said sternly. “As charming as your wolf is…” How did one finish that sentence? As charming as your wolf is, I’d rather not raise puppies?

“Keep him occupied.” Farkas advised. “He should change back soon.”

“If he gets any feistier,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “Keeping him occupied won’t be a problem.”

Farkas’s face paled, all amusement gone. “Come back over here, Mouse.”

The wolf rammed her shoulder with his head irritably and she pushed back. “Too late for that, I think.” She snapped quietly. The wolf’s head alone spanned most of her shoulders; every ‘gentle’ head butt tested her resolve not to stumble backwards.

Thelma bit her lip, urging her own wolf down. The call was incessant, almost begging to let her have him. And she would never admit how tempted she was to change and do just that. Thank god for Farkas. But with one more firm press of his snout the air shifted again and she exhaled a relieved breath. The wolf before her shrank and whined until the man who’s embrace she’d spent hours within laid curled on the ground.

Unable to stop herself, Thelma found her gaze drawn to the cords of his muscular thighs and buttocks.

Farkas knelt beside his brother, covering him in a fur blanket then gave her a knowing smile. “Unless you want to look some more…”

Blood rushed her cheeks and she scowled. “Snap it shut or I’ll sew it.” Thelma snapped.

Farkas chuckled as Vilkas began to stir. The smaller twin groaned, clutching his ribs.

Vilkas’s face was black and blue from the heavy hit he’d taken.

“Keep him still.” She ordered and scrambled away to rummage through her pack for potions. When she returned Farkas had a gentle hold on him to stop his agonized squirming and she popped the cork on the first vial, forcing it down his throat. Most of the liquid flowed down his chin but some hit the mark; the second fared much better. After three and a half potions, Vilkas settled down and opened his cerulean eyes.

Damn this man and damn her own treacherous heart. Not long ago she was furious with him and for good reason but now all she felt was the urge to settle in beside him and kiss all his aches away.

Thelma sighed and as Farkas turned to gather the potions together leaned in close to his ear.

“Looks like it’s you and me now, wolf.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a long chapter this week! Once again, this chapter is rated M so...yeah. Thank you for reading and a very special thanks to those who take the time to leave a review :)

“Silver-blood inn.” Farkas read the name of the inn on a sign hanging beside fancifully ornate bronze-colored double doors. Vilkas remained silent as he had since their sleep-induced late start earlier that morning, a scowl etched onto his lips.

“This is Markarth?” Fine hairs all over his body stiffened at hearing the elf’s low-key voice so close. Against his better judgment, Vilkas deigned to look at her and immediately regretted it. The elf’s face was a mask of wonder as she took in the scenic city from the cascading waterfalls to the beautiful and ancient buildings, waterways and pass ways. The delighted and, dare he say it, _feminine_ glint in her crimson eyes alone was enough to bring back all the raw, uninhibited desire from the night before rushing back to him in droves. If it had indeed it had ever left.

Gods, Vilkas did not want to even harbor the thought. As far back as he could remember, he could not recall a time when he had been more vulnerable, more helpless than he had under the wolf’s complete control. Watching everything play out around him and not being able to do a damn thing about it was maddening. The wolf could have ripped the elf’s throat apart in the blink of an eye and he would have been able to do nothing.

Initially the wolf’s behavior had confused him; the hesitation in approaching her, the hunger, the instinctual need. When Vilkas realized the wolf’s intentions part of him was relieved while the other became more fearful than before. His wolf had recognized a kindred soul within the elf and it wanted her as his mate, as his equal.

Now…now he was unsure. Unsure of how to approach her or even if he should; surely she was still angry with him…though she did not appear to be; she had not hit/held a dagger to his throat yet. And then there was his brother who, gods love him, had not brought up the topic at all. Knowing his twin, it was probably taking all the willpower he had not to smirk smugly at him every chance he got. Vilkas would deserve it.

Farkas patted the elf gently on the back, seemingly snapping her out of her daze. “Never been here?”

She shook her head. “No. Near but not actually in the city. It’s gorgeous.” Sheer awe coated every word before the tell-tell bite of her lip came and she cleared her throat, reverting back to her normal blank face.

“Since we’re low on potions,” she stated. “I think we should rest here for the day, restock and head out again tomorrow. All in favor? Good.” She said before either brother had a chance to answer; Vilkas had to hide his smirk.

“Guess I’ll get us rooms then,” Farkas chuckled and disappeared behind the inn’s doors before Vilkas could stop him.

A tiny hand slapped his bicep. “If you prefer to stand there like a statue all day, that’s fine by me or you can be useful and be my guide.” She said, her voice betraying nothing of an ulterior motive. “Just know that I will most likely end up in a seedier part of town having to stick a dagger in someone’s brain for their stupidity which would create loads of problems. Your choice.”

Vilkas frowned. “You’re a public menace.”

The elf…giggled? “So sweet of you to say so.” She said then raised her brow at his surprise. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “As a warrior and a Companion, it is my duty to protect these poor people from you. Lead on, elf.”

The elf feigned a hateful glare he knew she didn’t mean and Vilkas felt his muscles begin to relax. If she were still upset with him, it would be obvious…unless of course she intended to push him off the top of a waterfall…Vilkas cringed. Knowing the elf, that might happen.

He followed her silently first to a fruit and vegetable vender to stock up on dried fruits and then to a jewelry stand. The merchant was a woman, a Nord like him with chestnut brown hair pulled back in a loose braid over her shoulders and like-colored almond eyes. In a word she was stunning and very sturdily built; just the kind of woman who, not too long ago, Vilkas would have taken to bed without another thought.

Not now. All his desire lay in wait for the tiny dark elf trying on a pendant with her back to him in such a way that made his arms twitch to snatch her up and snuggle her against his chest while she shopped.

“What does it do?” She asked the merchant irritably.

Vilkas saw the woman give her a confused look. “It’s an amulet of Mara.”

The elf stiffened as she reached around her neck to remove the offending amulet. For reasons he could not place, Vilkas was almost sad to see it go but the merchant clearly was not, batting her thick eyelashes in his direction. Not even _attempting_ to be discreet about it.

The elf turned to him with her brows pressed together in a scowl then looked back at the blushing merchant. Oh hells.

“Forget it.” she hissed, tossing the amulet back onto the stand and spinning on her heels to face him.

“So very sorry for interrupting your scenic view.” There was an aura of anger and hurt surrounding the elf as she stood before him, fists balled at her sides.

Vilkas reached out, capturing the furiously shaking elf in his arms and pulled her into him even as she wriggled violently to escape.

“I will cut off your manhood, I swear!” she threatened.

Cupping her chin in his hand, he tilted her head and met her halfway with a possessive kiss. In the beginning she fought, struggling against him like a cat from water, though Vilkas felt it was more on instinct than true anger. Eventually she settled allowing his tongue to brush hers for the briefest of moments and even rewarding him with a satisfied sigh before he finally let her take a breath.

The merchant and just about everyone else was watching the two of them with mixed reactions. The woman’s was surprise, jealousy and a deep pink blush.

Vilkas caught a lock of dislodged black hair with his fingers and tucked it loosely behind the flustered elf’s ear. “If I release you, are you going to punch me again?”

“No.” Try as he might, he heard and saw nothing but truth in her answer.

He released her carefully, studying her face for a tell; not a sinew twitched as her hand came up to slap him across the cheek. Vilkas caught her gently by the wrist and pressed his lips to her palm.

The elf’s face visibly flushed whether from embarrassment, anger or both. “I…damn you Vilkas.” She whispered but without hostility. All he could do was chuckle.

“Are you really finished shopping?” he asked only loud enough for her to hear. There was a crowd around the two of them, as if watching a play, but neither of them noticed or cared. “Because I do believe your merchant friend has now realized her mistake.”

The elf peered over her shoulder at the brown haired Nord and gave a smug smile. “No. I’m finished.” She said. “Though I wouldn’t object if you wanted to show me the rest of the city.”

Her meaning was not lost on him and he felt a wave of relief soothe the muscles that had been uncomfortably tense since the night before. “It would be an honor, my lady.”

The elf’s face screwed up as he knew it would. “Never,” she said. “Call me that again.”

Vilkas chuckled, leading her away from the merchant booths. “As you wish, oh mistress of darkness.”

“There are no less than four daggers within my reach at this moment,” she said darkly. “You do realize this, yes?”

“Always, elf.” He answered with a quick kiss to her forehead. “Always.”

 

 

 

“What would the two of you do if you weren’t Companions?” Thelma asked the twins as she nursed her ale in the comfort of Vilkas’s half-embrace as his arm was thrown casually around her waist.

After that minor scene outside the inn, they had spent the majority of the day together while he gradually led her to the highest point in all of Markarth. From their vantage point, she saw all the networks of waterfalls connecting and flowing together so breathtakingly smoothly, heard the soothing sounds of rushing water and smelled the river’s crispness in the air. Vilkas had simply held onto her as she basked in some of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen though they never came close to the water itself. Thelma wasn’t sure she wanted to take that high of a risk just yet; the idea of getting soaking wet still held no appeal to her.

Neither of them had talked much but it was…nice dare she say it. Often he would surprise her with a soft caress or a playful kiss to the neck; it was a side to him she hadn’t seen before but enjoyed immensely. In spite of everything, she felt almost at home in his embrace, his warmth alone filled her with a sense of peace unlike she had ever experienced before. Like she was completely and totally safe.

“A guard.” Farkas answered her though in her daydreaming she had more or less forgotten the question.

Vilkas laughed. “You would make a fine lawman, brother.”

“I disagree.” She said. “Farkas is far too kind to be one of those smart ass do-nothings. Perhaps a soldier?”

The bigger twin’s face lit up. “Sounds good but who for?”

That was the question lately. Empire bastards or Stormcloak bastards; take a side and pick your prick.

“Good point.” She said.

“I think,” Vilkas started. “I think I might like to travel. Leave Skyrim; see the world.”

Thelma chewed the inside of her cheek; that wasn’t an answer she expected and most definitely did not like.

“Of course,” he laughed and tugged her gently. “A traveling companion would be required. A dagger-happy elf with an attitude problem perhaps?”

“Attitude problem?” she repeated slowly.

Farkas raised his mug. “Notice dagger-happy didn’t get a reaction. Gods, you’re a blast, Mouse.”

Her body went ridged as she willed the man sitting across from her to burst into flames.

“Damn…” he gave her a weak smile.

“Mouse?” Vilkas started to shudder with suppressed laughter. “Mouse, is it?”

Thelma took a massive swig of her ale and set it back down hard. “Farkas your dead.”

He held up his palms in defense. “Slipped out, sorry.”

“So, this Mouse thing has been going on a while?” Vilkas asked with a hint of a snicker.

She growled. “Yes. Farkas calls me Mouse and he _promised_ that he would never use it in mixed company didn’t he?”

At least the bigger brother had the decency to look embarrassed.

“If my brother is allowed a nickname for you,” Vilkas said. “Then I think I am as well.”

Thelma’s lids fell to snake-like slits. “Elf. You call me elf. Done.”

“No.” he teased. “Mouse sounds rather more personal than elf, don’t you think Farkas?”

Farkas shrugged. “No…”

Their next round of drinks came just in the nick of time. Unfortunately the one delivering the drinks was the redheaded whore-bitch who had been eyeing both Farkas and Vilkas all night. The first she could have the latter she had better leave the hells alone if she cared for that long, lustrous hair of hers.

Welcome to jealousy Thelma, she sighed to herself. Isn’t it grand? Can’t chastise him anymore on the subject now can I?

Full mugs were set before them and she may have gripped hers a little too tightly at how long the redhead was lingering near Vilkas because his arm tightened around her and he dipped into the crease of her neck to chew playfully on her clavicle.

“Public…” she warned, starting to feel her cheeks and…well, her _entire body_ heat from his actions.

“So we go somewhere less public.” He offered hoarsely. “I think I owe you _apology_ ,” he emphasized the word, giving her the shivers. “For making you so angry last night.”

Immediately her thoughts fell to his last…apology and her skin started to tingle. “Right now?”

“Farkas can entertain himself, can’t you brother?”

To her slight mortification, the bigger twin nodded knowingly. “Sure can. Have fun you two.”

By now, Thelma would be surprised to learn her face was not eight shades of red but when Vilkas moved from his seat with one last gulp of his ale she accepted his invitation to follow him. Hand in hand he led her to their room and hastily shut the door behind them.

His fingers worked over her sharp cheekbones and teasingly flicked her ears; Thelma remained frozen in place. Terrified. Absolutely frightened.

Vilkas was the embodiment of intensity and lust as he stared deeply into her eyes. “Something wrong?”

“No.” she managed though far more breathy than she would have liked.

He smiled, holding her chin in his palm. “Then why is your expression of one who is about to fall off a cliff?” Suddenly he frowned, smoothing his thumb over her lips. “Do you want to go back downstairs?’

Thelma knew that if she said yes he would escort her back down without argument but…

She shook her head. “I want to stay.”

He smiled and lowered his lips to hers. “I am glad.” He whispered as every breath caressed her sensitive skin. “Relax. Nothing will be different than before; not if you do not want it to be.”

That was just it; she _did_ want it to be. But whereas she had confidence in her ability to kiss and pleasure him in some ways…this…this she was unsure about. Teasing was her element; everything they had done together before had been in her realm of knowledge and under her control. Beyond the teasing…when that line was passed, she would no longer _be_ the one in control and that scared her. Would she make a good lover? Was that even what Vilkas wanted from her? She supposed she could simply ask but how romantic and spontaneous was that?

Gods, since when had she started caring about that? Knowing was always better than not knowing.

“Hypothetically,” she started trying to keep her voice under her control. “Let’s say I wanted different…what would that entail?”

She felt him smile against her lips. “Whatever you wished.”

A familiar streak of irritation flamed. “Vilkas, answer me. I need to know.” After what seemed like the longest second of her life, he finally closed the gap between their lips. In her ruffled state, she forgot all her useful tricks and tips; the kiss was lust in action, nibbling on both sides, teeth clashing and very messy. It was absolutely the best kiss she had ever had.

When they broke, panting and half-suffocating Vilkas chucked. “Hypothetically,” he huffed the word as his fingers dug deep into her hair. “Tonight I would make love to you, if you allowed me.”

At that moment, Thelma wished nothing more than the earth to open and swallow her whole. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him, didn’t _crave_ him but she was clueless and she hated how weak that made her feel.

Not trusting her mouth to answer, she resumed their kiss precisely where it had ended. Her fingers worked nervously on his chest plate’s laces and managed three of them before he began to help her.

As metal hit the floor in chunks they kicked the pieces away unceremoniously until never breaking their kiss until Vilkas was open to her wearing nothing but his tunic and leathers once again.

“Your turn, elf.” To reinforce himself, Vilkas tugged on one of the wrap-around claps holding the black leather together.

Putting on a bold face, Thelma slowly even sensually undid each clasp in succession first on her top then making her way to the ties on her bottoms.

“This is hardly fair,” she argued, standing arms crossed in nothing but her small cloths that left more or less nothing to the imagination.

Vilkas drank her in with a hungry gaze. “Says who?” his palms found their way to the small of her back, fingers tracing up and down her spine.

Thelma bit back a moan as his calloused warrior’s touch located the thick scar at her back and traced it all the way to her navel. The first time she had worked up the courage to examine the very same scar in the mirror, she had done very nearly the same thing though with a very different reaction; she had cried. A glowing beauty she wasn’t; she was too tiny, her breasts were too small, her hipbones too defined. All the scar did was add one more thing.

“Does it bother you?” Vilkas’s deep, accented voice purred in her ear.

“No.” she told him. “Not anymore…it used to.” Why start lying now? Again, he traced the arch of her old battle wound with his thumb. “Why?”

Why? What kind of question was that to ask a woman? She should think the answer was obvious.

“Because it’s hideous.” She said as if talking to a youngling. “As if a dark elf needs more to make her so.”

Suddenly his other hand was tilting her chin up to meet his furrowed gaze. “I have told you before that you are beautiful.”

“And I have told you I know I am not.” She retorted. “So I would rather you not lie to me.”

His expression became angry. “What would I gain by lying about that?”

“What would any man gain?” she answered matching his rough tone. “A woman to let her guard down. An attempt to charm her. To worm his way into her bed.”

Vilkas instantly let her go and her heart sunk. _Now who was the insensitive ass?_

In an attempt to keep him near her she tossed her arms over his shoulders, pressing her body to his.

“Here I go on and on about how rude you can be and I’m no better…” her attempt at humor failed miserably as he still refused to embrace her or soften his face.

“Say something…” _Yell at me; chastise me like you used to…anything but the silence._

“Elf, I won’t lie to you.” His expression didn’t change. “I have done exactly that in the past but,” Vilkas paused and tentatively stroked her bare midriff. “This… _us_ …” he trailed off.

“Never mind.” She tried and, in trying to salvage the moment, lowered her voice to a purr. “Would you like to see how _I_ apologize?”

Thelma began to rake her fingers down his chest to the hem of his pants. This time she didn’t even bother with the ties and simply forced them over his hips. As soon as he was exposed to her she gripped his semi-erection in her palm and slowly began to pump him.

Vilkas growled, his hips bucking involuntarily into her touch. Feeling him growing to full proportions in her hand, Thelma circled his engorged tip with her finger and sunk to her knees.

When she took him between her skilled lips he moaned and she pleasured him ruthlessly, letting his arousal build and build but never come to a head. Just when she was getting into a rhythm, Vilkas urged her to stop with a gentle push of her shoulder.

Thelma released him and helped him shimmy the rest of the way out of his pants. The second his leathers were off, Vilkas surprised her by scooping her into his arm her legs clenched around his waist and she felt his erection brush expectantly against her bottom and thigh as he carried her to the bed where they fell ungracefully into a heap. Thelma laughed as he corrected their position, moving her beneath him with a smile and discarding the last of his clothing. And gods was this man beautiful; a broad, sculpted chest became perfectly hard rows of abs and the shadowed V of his pelvis where his impressive erection thumped with desire.

“Got a little carried away…” Vilkas came to hover above her resting his weight on his elbows.

“Obviously.”

His smile widened and he dropped his head into her chest. “Can you blame me?”

Thelma’s answer became a gasp as his lips latched onto an aching nipple right though the cloth. She arched into him loving the feeling of his less than gentle needling on her sensitive nub.

“Take it…” she panted. “ Take it off…wet…”

“Good.” He growled.

Thelma shook her head wildly. “No. Cloth…wet…water… _please_ …”

As her request settled on him she saw him smirk mischievously. “You’re going to get a lot wetter than this, elf.”

She hissed, wiggling beneath him.

“If you insist.” Vilkas gripped the thin cloth in his fist and ripped it clean off her body then he did the same below. It was the first time she had been completely bare to him…intimately anyhow. She watched his smoldering gaze pass over her with reverence, scars and all. Reaching for his neck, she drew him back down to her; his mouth devoured her, his tongue flicking, alternating between breasts forcing her higher and higher. Under his rough but skillful ministrations water pooled between her legs as it and she was too far-gone to care.

“Now.” She urged rubbing her wetness against his manhood to show her meaning.

Vilkas groaned and shifted above her; she felt insane heat as his tip nudged her virgin opening but went no further. Thelma squirmed irritably, determined to do the thrusting herself if she had too when suddenly he shoved himself forward.

White light clouded her vision as she hissed in pain; on some level she was aware that Vilkas had stopped moving and enveloped her tightly in his arms murmuring softly into her ear. What she wasn’t wholly aware of was her fists beating down hard on his muscular back while she attempted to force herself through the intense pain without tears. No tears; she would not let him see her cry over this.

Slowly the pain faded as her small and previously unbroken body adjusted to his size.

“Gods, I am sorry.” Vilkas rumbled urgently into her neck.

Thelma steadied her breaths; the ache wasn’t unbearable anymore, not at all.

Gradually the warm heat of arousal began to sneak once again into her core and she found the sensations heightened not hindered by the thick weight dividing her legs. Finally, she stopped pounding him with her fist.

Vilkas shifted, looking down at her with concern and she nodded her silent assent, desire quickly replacing the searing pain that had wrecked her body only moments ago.

Thankfully he understood, commencing with a faint rocking motion. It was strange, feeling Vilkas moving inside her; there was some pain still but nothing unbearable and a faint giggle escaped her lips. Oh gods…

Vilkas raised a dark brow and she bit her lip trying desperately not to laugh.

“Feels…weird.” Thelma tried to explain, hoping she hadn’t shattered his manly pride.

To her surprise he smiled, kissing her softly on the lips. “Shall I stop?”

Oh he had better be teasing her. “Do so on pain of death.”

Now Vilkas laughed; his slow rocking deepened with a roll of his hips. Thelma moaned.

“Oh gods…” her head thrashed as every movement Vilkas made sent waves of pleasure and jolts of burning fire into her core. A calloused hand explored every inch of her body, fingering her ribcage and cupping her breast. Her back bowed off the mattress, meeting him thrust for thrust and moaning unintelligible words.

Vilkas growled pinning her to the bed with his hips, bumping the most sensitive part of her as his movements became fevered. Animalistic. Their mouths slammed together in a fury of tongues and teeth; completely lost in one another.

Thelma gasped his name when, without warning, her muscles tensed and her inner walls began to contract; her nails raked the plains of her lover’s back surely drawing blood. Vilkas cursed, his thrusts becoming more erratic then, with one last powerful shove, she felt him expending himself inside her before collapsing ungracefully atop her.

They lay together entwined in passion, sweat and their own bodily fluids for what seemed like hours. Panting and breathing heavily she stroked his damp hair while he recovered from his release. Thelma had never felt closer or safer with anyone in her whole life than did with him, her mighty wolf.

To her disappointment Vilkas eventually realized he was laying over her and rolled off but pulled her with him to lie on his chest.

“Could have told me you were a virgin, elf.” He scolded her as he brushed his lips over her hairline.

_Because I didn’t want you to treat me like a breakable doll_ , she thought. _Well, congratulations, he hadn’t_.

“And spoil the surprise?” she tried. “Why would I do that?”

“I hurt you.” Her chest wrenched at the disappointment in his voice. “That…if you had mentioned…damn, I could have been better for you. Less selfish.”

Thelma steadied her elbows on his chest and gave him what she hoped was a sexy smile he wasn’t buying it. “Vilkas,” she sighed. “The reason I didn’t tell you is because you would have treated me differently. When have I ever needed coddling? Life has forced me to be strong.”

His face darkened. “I am well aware of how strong you are, elf.” His hand grasped her waist just over her scar. “But here, together, there are no titles. We are not Companions or warriors or assassins or thieves.” he said. “I would have thought no less of you had you told me.”

Thelma took in her lover’s words in silence and listening to the thump of his heartbeat as her cheek rested on his chest.                                                                                                                                                                                           

Vilkas’s arms trapped her in a warm embrace. “Elf…” she waited for him to continue. “I believe I should be honest with you.”

Thelma froze. Those weren’t words she wanted to hear…

“About?”

“How I feel about you.” At his words her non-relationship with Brynjolf came rushing back to her; the way he had told her in no uncertain terms that she meant _nothing_ to him beyond being his pupil. Hearing that from Vilkas would…would…

Make her very, _very_ angry.

Thelma immediately pushed herself off him, leaving him stunned. “You don’t have to finish.” She told him harshly. “I understand perfectly.”

Pulling a sheet up to cover herself, she sat on the edge of the bed trying not to cry or reach for the nearest weapon. Suddenly she felt his arms wrap around her and draw her back in; she struggled, though half-heartedly.

“I love you, you temperamental elf.” Warm breath tickled her ear, traveling down her spine.

Thelma stopped struggling.

“Huh?” wonderfully eloquent, Thelma…gods.

“My intention is not to trap or trick you,” Vilkas amended quickly. “Take it for a grain of salt if you wish. Just be aware, that is how I feel and that I should have voiced it before now.”

“Oh…” her voice came out barely more than a whisper. Did he want her to say it back? No one had ever loved her…used the _words_ even.

“No obligations.” He said as if sensing her dilemma.

She turned to face him. “Vilkas, it isn’t that I…” she stumbled. “I just need…can you give me some time?”

Vilkas smiled warmly. “Of course.” Then his lips fell on hers and they kissed; slowly, tenderly.

“Vilkas?” she whispered against hot breaths.

“Hmm?”

Thelma’s heart pounded out of her chest. “Say it again…use my name.”

“I love you,” he smiled atop her lips. “ _Thelma_.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is this week's chapter also rated very M. Thanks to everyone reading and a special thanks to my consistent reviewers, I'm so glad you like this story!

Vilkas stirred. The elf had curled herself to lay flush against his body, using his bicep as a pillow and as a result his arm was entirely numb but he was not about to disturb her. She looked peaceful, at ease even, and more than a little content. It filled him with pride to know she felt safe enough in his arms to let herself fall into such a vulnerable state; such a thing could not be easy for someone like her. Vilkas just wished she thought herself as beautiful as he did.

Scars were battle trophies amongst the Nord; marks of challenges overcome and signs of strength. Looking at her, the elf had certainly seen her share of fights but she was by no means as marred as some of the Nord woman he had been with.

The elf was not softly feminine; she had no voluptuous curves or plump breasts, her face was not typically beautiful but, to him, she was perfect. Vilkas had seen his share of woman who fit that description to the letter and none of them excited him the way this woman resting comfortably on his arm did.

In a few short minutes they would have to get up, get dressed and go back to life but all he wanted was to watch the little elf sleep.

Vilkas pressed a lingering kiss onto her shoulder. With a sleepy sigh the elf shifted so that they laid chest to chest, his erection brushing the juncture of her thighs.

“Elf…” he whispered softly into her ear. The elf went from sleeping to awake in an instant, crimson eyes darting from side to side, taking in her clearly unexpected surroundings with stiff muscles. Vilkas refrained from any sudden movements; he knew his little elf well and waited patiently for the night’s events to come back and calm her. When they did, she visibly relaxed in his embrace and even snuggled up to him.

“Let me be clear.” She whispered crisp as a bell like she had never been asleep. “Only an act of the Divines will remove me from this bed.”

Vilkas chuckled. “Unfortunately, I am not a holy man.”

She smirked evilly. “Good. And what do you intend to do about it?”

Vilkas sucked in a hiss as the elf wiggled herself against his mounting arousal.

“Not fair, elf.” He growled.

“I beg to differ.” Suddenly she gripped him beneath the sheets and he let out a guttural moan. The elf pumped her hand once, twice, three times before she released him abruptly.

Vilkas gave her a bewildered glare and the elf smiled innocently. “You’re right.” She said. “We should get up.”

“Like hell we should.” Vilkas tugged her roughly to him. The sound of the elf’s lighthearted giggle was so rare he almost did not want to ruin the music coming from her lips but even the Divines themselves could not know how much he wanted to kiss her; claim her as his own.

Her leg draped across his waist allowing his begging erection to press against her hot sex but he would not make the same mistake as last night.

“Are you ready for this? Not sore?” Vilkas continued to kiss her first along her jaw then dropping below her neck to gnaw gently on her clavicle.

The elf groaned, her arm wound around his chest and they both gasped back a cry as, with a forceful lunge, she impaled herself on him.

All inhibitions gone, Vilkas started pumping her viciously. She responded in kind digging her nails into the already ripped canvas of his back and mewling with pleasure. Sensing his release was not far off he reached between her legs rubbing the little nub there with zeal in an attempt to relieve her first but it was too little too late and jolts ripped his lower half in two as he filled her.

Vilkas fell motionless panting and expended from his release; the elf squirmed against him in frustration.

The glare she shot him was molten. “ _I wasn’t finished_.”

Since he was already softening inside her he pulled out and rolled her carefully onto her back so that he hovered above her. The elf’s normally braided hair was wild on her shoulders, the ties having fallen out sometime during the night. That coupled with the intense glare of withheld pleasure made her the personification of lust in his eyes.

“Forgive me.” He purred laying a heated kiss just above her belly button. “Allow me to remedy this situation…”

Vilkas doubted she wanted slow and drawn out so he dove right for her core, slick and hot as fire from their intimacy. With an appreciative groan, he lapped her up using his lips and tongue to pleasure her without abandon.

In no time at all she started to undulate uncontrollably but he was not about to go easy on her and braced his hands beneath her hips, lifting his feisty little elf off the mattress; this only meant he could go deeper. Too soon she hissed her release.

Vilkas worked her through, happily taking in every last drop of sweet ambrosia she produced. Gods he loved this woman.

When he was finished he kissed his way up the center of her body to her mouth while she remained splayed out in the wake of the tremors that had just wrecked her body. Vilkas felt a sort of accomplishment in that.

“Better?” he asked.

The elf nodded but did not speak. He was just about to kiss her again when a heavy fist pounded the door to their sanctuary.

Farkas, he thought with a scowl. His brother had always had a very distinctive knock in that Vilkas wondered whether the bigger twin would bring down the door with the next pound of his fist. As he and the elf currently lay in nothing but strips of sheet and sunlight, Vilkas did not wish to find out.

“Coming!” he called and the knocking ceased.

“It appears,” he brushed his knuckles against her breast. “It is time to get out of bed.”

They reluctantly dressed and the elf smoothed her hair, replacing it back into her normal braid. When they stepped into the main area of the inn, Farkas grinned and motioned for them to take a seat with him.

Eggs, sausage and ham were laid out in plates before them along with tankards of ale. The tavern girl took one look at his disheveled appearance and the lovely satisfied expression on the elf’s face and scoffed.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the elf’s slender fingers close threateningly around a bread knife and Farkas quickly covered her hand with his.

“Paint yourself a picture whore,” she snarled. “Because that’s as close as you’re going to get.”

Her reaction brought a shameful smile to his face even as the other girl recoiled.

“Whore?” she retorted. “It was not I that kept the entire inn from their sleep last night, _elf_.”

The elf’s eyes flamed redder than usual; Vilkas saw her reaching for her dagger and figured it was time to intervene. “Thank you. That will be all.” He told the girl firmly.

“I am no simple wench, elf.” Said the girl, completely ignoring him. “My father is a soldier, I know my way around a fight.” The girl took in the elf’s small stature haughtily. “Which is more than can be said of you, _little one_.”

_Shit_. Both brothers gave the other a panicked look as the elf shot up from her seat.

“You will regret that remark, whore, when your blood splatters the walls.” she hissed.

The blistering malice in her voice made the girl take a step back but she caught herself retreating and drew herself to full Nord height. “I…I am not afraid of you. Elves do not belong in Skyrim; this is our home and we do not need your lot wiggling your way into the beds of true Nords.”

Vilkas’s eyes narrowed at the girl, still holding herself proudly. Typical to Nord woman she was built sturdily, he could see that even beneath her tattered cloths and she had muscle tone which gave credit to her claim of knowing how to fight. Even still, the elf would decimate her and, right now, he was tempted to allow her; that the girl did not already have a blade threatening to draw blood against her neck was a testament to how far his little elf had come. That or she really was about to kill the girl.

Suddenly the innkeeper came up behind the two women with a scowl. “Lira take it outside or pay for the damages.” Vilkas was stunned by the innkeeper’s blasé attitude then the man addressed the rest of the inn in a louder voice. “Two silvers to see the girls fight.”

The elf stormed out of the inn, Vilkas could barely keep up with her. Outside was wide open; the merchants had not opened shop yet and fighters along with the paying spectators were the only people around.

Vilkas steadied himself against the outer walls of the inn with his arms crossed, content at watching the fight out of blood-splatter’s way.

The tavern girl Lira stood proudly like a true Nord. Vilkas scoffed; like a stupid Nord.

He watched as the girl appraised the elf wholly for the first time, green eyes finally falling on the twin daggers at her sides. “No weapons.” She objected. “A true warrior does not need them to claim victory.”

Both daggers were drawn and in the elf’s capable hands in the blink of an eye.

“Certainly.” She snarled the let the daggers fly with a skilled flick of her wrist. Sometimes Vilkas wondered where she learned that trick or if he really wanted to know…

Anyone else might have missed it but a seasoned werewolf could smell the girl’s sudden fear watching the blades come straight at her head then the waves of relief as the daggers imbedded within a merchant’s stand just inches from the girls’ head.

In a way Vilkas could not blame the girl for underestimating the elf; when she had first come to Jorrvaskr, he had made the same mistake and paid dearly as well. Her size was not a liability, it was an asset; she could dodge and hit before her assailant even realized they had missed.

_Poor stupid girl_. Vilkas probably should warn her…or at least have some bandages ready for when the elf was done with her.

 

 

 

Thelma dodged the Nord whore’s punches easily and planted one of her own in the girl’s gut. She doubled over, clutching her stomach and Thelma bent to her ear.

“Get up,” she hissed. “Do not tell me you are that easy to break. Or are you submitting to an elf? What would dear old daddy think?”

The Nord’s leg shot out, sweeping her clean off her feet. Thelma rolled into the fall to regain her stance and caught a fist as the girl attempted to sideswipe her.

“Shut up, elf!” the girl was about to say something else but Thelma didn’t want to hear it and twisted the fist in her hand until she heard the satisfying snaps and screams as the tiniest of bones broke. This was not about Vilkas anymore nor was she sure it ever was; this was about a higher-than-the-Divines Nord _bitch_ who believed it was fine to mock and belittle her because her because her ears came to a point.

“A potion will fix that.” she spat and pushed the girl away from her. “But it will not fix that pretty, narrow-minded head of yours. So I suggest the next time you decide pick a fight with the elves you so detest, remember this moment.”

The girl glared at her, holding her wrist and it was so pathetic Thelma laughed. “If you’re going to make the effort to glare at least be decent at it.”

“Forgive me,” the girl spat. “That my eyes do not repel the whole of Skyrim when I look upon them; though I am sure the color of blood suits you just fine.”

Thelma couldn’t stop herself, her fist slammed into the girl’s nose and the spectators cheered drowning out her cry. _Worthless trash_.

Her knuckles came back bloodied as the fluid flowed freely from the girl’s wounded nose. Anger escalated within her to the point that her arms shook; visions of pounding the bitch into the stone flooded her thoughts and she was shamed to know the only thing stopping her was the man watching silently from the shadows.

_Let her go_ , she told herself. _You’ve won. Don’t reinforce these miserable peoples prejudices_.

Very reluctantly and still shaking, Thelma turned her back to the girl. To the Nord’s credit she wasn’t sniveling over her broken nose or wrist; surely it was her pride that was injured the most.

Suddenly a sharp pain in her side forced the breath from Thelma’s chest and she stumbled forward, not quite losing her balance and spun to see the damned tavern wench in battle mode once again.

“I, unlike the empire, will not yield to the poisons of an elf.”

Thelma snarled; her vision blanked and the next thing she knew there were heavy arms trapping her in a massive constrictive hold, hoisting her off the girl as she kicked and screamed.

“She yields!” Thelma recognized the voice; deep, accented and gruff…Vilkas.

“No…” the girl’s reply was weak but she was hardly moving and covered in her own blood.

“Yes, you do.” He answered for her.

“I do not!” the girl managed herself on all fours. “How could a Nord….a…warrior such as yourself accept that…that _thing_?! It is barely more…than an animal.”

Fury lunged her forward but the strong arms prevented her from moving.

“Let me go!” she screamed.

“No!” he growled. “No. There would be no honor in killing this girl. Let it be.”

“No honor?” she cried. “ _No honor_?! Have you not heard the prejudicial pig speak? Or do you simply not care? Perhaps you agree with her? Is that it? Am I nothing more than an animal? A thing?” Thelma squirmed with all her might but Vilkas wouldn’t give. “You say you love me yet you will not allow me to fight for my own honor?”

“Damn it, woman, it is _because_ I love you that I cannot allow you to kill this girl in cold blood.” He snarled. “Get a hold on yourself.”

“Fuck you.” She hissed and was thrown unkindly over his shoulder. She beat on his back with her fist, trying to find a weak spot in his armor when suddenly she was tossed forward and water rushed up her nose.

Regardless of how she flailed her limbs the disgusting water seemed to seep into her very bones. _Oh gods. Oh gods. Oh gods_ …

Panic drowned out her anger as she scrambled to get to dry land. When she pulled herself up onto the stone her stomach did a flip-flop from all the…water…dripping off the ends of her braids and armor.

Thelma shivered more from the knowledge that she was utterly and thoroughly soaked than actual chills. The vicious fluid even dripped from her nose.

“Calmed down?” Vilkas asked kneeling beside her.

She nodded. “Wet…”

“Very.” He agreed. “Farkas get her a blanket and for gods sake clear these people out.”

Vilkas’s arms draped around her shoulders….her _wet_ shoulders….

“I hate you,” she chattered.

“Noted.”

If she shook her head, her wet braids would slap her cheek so she stayed still. “No, I really hate you.”

Vilkas nodded. “Understood.”

“And I will continue to hate you until I am dry.”

Vilkas smiled and rose to his feet, holding out his hand to her. Left with no other option, she took it.

Thelma dared a glance at the merchant’s square turned battlefield; someone had whisked the stupid girl away but her blood stained the stone. Guilt tugged at her gut; she was not a killer, not anymore but had it not been for…Vilkas…she would have murdered that girl. The rage inside her would have demanded it.

“Vilkas I wanted to kill her,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, that was becoming obvious and precisely why I intervened.”

Thelma didn’t look at him; didn’t feel she deserved to. Vilkas was a warrior, a Companion who lived and breathed honor. All she was and would ever be was an assassin and a thief; an unsavory hoax of a person who could hide behind morality all she wanted but deep inside would only ever be unworthy of the happiness he promised.

Thelma could only guess what her wolf thought of her now. Was that horrible girl so far off in calling her an animal? Vilkas and her both were beasts but she was the only one acting like it.

The automatic instinct to run took her over as it always did with faced with something she’d rather not deal with. But this time she would not only be running from herself but from Vilkas, the man who claimed he loved her and Farkas the only true friend she had ever had. It would mean leaving them to fight the hags alone and letting Kodlak down.

No. This time she would not run.

“I don’t hate you…” she mumbled and he, to her surprise, pulled her into a backward embrace.

Vilkas kissed the tip of her ear. “I know.”

“I hate myself.” It was the first time she had admitted it to herself let alone anyone else.

Her lover went rigid even as he held her in his arms. “Thelma…”

Hearing her name on his lips sounded strange; he’d only ever used it once. “What happened to elf?”

“Thelma, elf…names are unimportant.” He said irritably spinning her around to face him. “What is important is that you do not…” his eyes squeezed together as if forcing himself to say the words. “Do anything…rash…this was a mistake, a lapse in judgment. We all have them. ”

“Vilkas, you cannot say the world would have been a better place without me.” Less people would be dead, less family members would grieve. The list could go on and on. Too late the weight of Vilkas’s words and the emotion behind them hit her pointblank in the chest and his embrace quickly became two hands on her shoulder that shook her violently.

“No!” he growled. “So help me, elf I will carry you back to Jorrvaskr and chain you to a wall if I must.”

Thelma turned a hard gaze on him. “Gods, I’m not going to kill myself Vilkas. If I had the courage, don’t you think I would have done so before now?” she decided not to mention that there were times…times just after she had slit a man’s throat or woken in the middle of the night because a sudden noise had panicked her into thinking the brotherhood had finally come for her. In times like those, the urge to give up was greater; no one would have missed her. In fact, people’s lives could have been affected for the better.

But she didn’t think that way anymore. Thelma had found a home with the Companions even played at some sort of contentment and joy for life that she wasn’t ready to give up so soon. For the first time in her miserable life she felt like she belonged somewhere…with someone.

Just then Farkas came back carrying a large fur blanket and draped it across her shoulders.

“Do _not_ ,” Vilkas said gravely. “Scare me like that again. Do you understand…” then he peered away from her. “I cannot…lose you.”

A lump formed in her throat. “You won’t.” ignoring her sopping wet clothes the best she could Thelma rose to her toes to kiss him gently on the lips. “Promise.”

The need as his lips responded made her lightheaded. “I intend to hold you to that, elf.”

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, unfortunately, I have finally caught up to myself; I had hoped to stay at least two chapters ahead but...I got stuck. And am still stuck, actually. Otherwise, I hope you like this chapter and I hope I will be able to write the next for you guys.

 

Even under the elf’s unrelenting glare, Vilkas stood his ground. Raw magic sizzled in the air around the Companions, all of it pouring from the mouth of a cave not more than a quarter of a mile away. They were all feeling the effects; such unrefined power raked at their nerves and the closer they got the more irritable they each became. Even Farkas wore an unnatural scowl.

So right now, Vilkas was in no mood for the elf to be suggesting such a reckless and above all, stupid action.

“Why not?!’ she demanded with narrowed eyes.

“Because it is insane!” he struggled to keep his voice down. “There could be a whole coven in those caves.”

“All the more reason to scout them out.” She hissed between her teeth making Vilkas wonder if she were having a hard a time as him reminding himself that he was human and not a massive, clawed beast with a jaw full of fangs. No…keep your mind off that. Human. I am human. Stay in control.

Raw magic was the worst kind. In his opinion, no magic was good but this….this could warp even a seasoned mage’s mind. Now throw three werewolves, one with a very short fuse into the pot and their mission had just taken a poor turn.

Vilkas pressed his fingers to his temple. “These are not mere witches, elf.”

“Really?” She asked with an innocence that made him snarl. “And here I was thinking this would be easy as pie.”

Unable to speak from fury Vilkas refused to acknowledge her, afraid to make any sudden movements lest they involve pushing her violently against a tree and tying her to it.

“Farkas?” she asked, neither of breaking eye contact. “Opinions?”

Farkas grunted a shrug. “Go in. Kill the hags. Chop of their heads.”

Short, simple and to the killing; a very Farkas answer and Vilkas could not help but be a little envious of his brother’s outlook on life.

“If it worked that way we would already be on our way back to Jorrvaskr.” Vilkas snapped.

“Don’t yell at him,” The elf warned.

“I can handle myself, Mouse.” His brother said harshly.

“Enough!” Vilkas’s hand gripped the hilt of his sword so hard his knuckles burned. “Enough. This magic is playing with our minds.” The two shot him heated looks and he sighed. “Hags can _see_ into the shadows, elf; they have magic for that and make no mistake, they will attack you.”

“Then I will be careful.” She persisted. “It’s better than charging in unawares. Give me ten minutes-”

“No.” he growled.

“Just let her go.” Farkas grumbled.

Vilkas threw his arms up in defeat. “Fine, you have five minutes. No more. And if by the time those five minutes are up, you are not back Farkas and I are coming in, fangs bared. Understood?”

She nodded stiffly. “Not sure what use I can be in such short time _master,_ ” she gave a curt bow. “ _But_ I will endeavor to try.”

Ignoring the master remark he watched her slink silently behind a tree then disappear completely into the murky shadows near the cave’s entrance.

It was the longest five minutes of his life and he filled it by grunting irritably, kicking the dirt and shooting dirty looks at Farkas. That last bit made him feel like a child even if he could not help it; the last time he had done so much sulking was when his brother had killed his first bear before him. 22 years ago.

Just when he was about to rush in, five minutes passed or no the elf came slinking back out of the cave visibly shaken.

“What? What did you see?”

“Of what I was able to scout,” she sneered. “There were three hags. One off by her lonesome just inside the entrance and two more in a room to the left…one of them almost saw me I think. But there’s more…’

“More?” Farkas asked.

“Witches. Necromancers…learning from the hags, I assume.” The elf leaned against a tree. “I noticed five altogether but, then again, I was being rushed.” She sneered.

Vilkas wanted nothing more than to tell her to shut the hell up but he was still sane enough to realize it was not him speaking but the magic and that the comment would likely gain him at the very best a night of cold shoulders and heated glares. Though with the raw magic probing their emotions and the elf’s already heightened stress from the incident in Markarth, it had the potential to be far worse.

“If you and Farkas can keep the hag’s busy,” she started. “The necromancers would be no problem for me.” Seemingly for effect, the elf drew her curved dagger and flashed him a dirty look.

Vilkas was sick of this. “Fine.” His voice was a low growl but if he were being honest the thought of his elf up against humans was a far better prospect than the hags.

Now if they could just get through this alive.

 

 

 

Thelma had been able to slip in and out without notice but the warrior twins were not so stealthy and the hag spotted them immediately.

Suddenly it was as if the dirt itself were moving beneath her feet. The air thickened, streaks of lightning-like static made the hair on her arms stand on end. Thelma couldn’t move.

The hag glowed bright orange and Thelma felt something heavy barrel into her from the side, taking her to the ground just as a heat, hotter than any she had ever felt swept over her and the wall behind her exploded with flames.

Fur, not skin, brushed face and Thelma found herself staring into citrine yellow slits. Humid breath from Vilkas’s snout on her neck brought her back to reality. With a snarl the wolf pushed himself off her and rushed at the hag but Thelma fell to her knees almost as soon as she’d come to her feet.

Everything became faded shades of red and she couldn’t feel the heaviness overtaking her anymore. When she rose it was on all four paws.

The hag screeched as Farkas’s claws ripped the flesh on her back to ribbons. The witch spun and a bolt of bright light sent her pack member hurling through the air; Farkas slammed into the wall with a pained yelp.

Thelma snarled and charged the hag. Her gnarled, claw-like hands shimmered with frost and Thelma dodged two bands of ice before the third pierced her shoulder. She howled feeling the blood seep from the wound into her fur.

A massive blur shadowed the hag from behind and the next thing Thelma saw the witch was prostrate on the ground, her neck torn so that her head was all but severed from her body. Blood dripped from Vilkas’s maw; it coated his fangs as he snarled down at the dead creature. Thelma took a tentative step forward but her injured shoulder spiked and a pathetic whimper escaped her.

Vilkas was at her side in an instant, towering over her smaller wolf form possessively. She growled when his jaws closed around the spike of ice lodged in her skin but he ignored her warning and yanked the freezing mass out without a semblance of gentleness.

Thelma snapped at her mate but he ducked his head, ears flat in a low growl. They glared at each other, neither willing to submit until she sensed Farkas approaching them from behind. The largest wolf nudged her affectionately as if glad the littler wolf was mostly unharmed. Her mate did not take kindly to the action.

Emitting a dangerous warning from deep within his throat, Vilkas lowered his snout to her wound and licked the blood from her fur. Then when she leaned into him as if his being there was as natural as breathing, he gently closed his jaws around the scruff of her neck.

The intent was obvious. Thelma was _his_ she-wolf; his mate. In his eyes, Farkas had no right to touch her.

Seeing this as well the largest wolf backed off but with an amused glint to his yellow eyes.

Vilkas nudged her tenderly, urging her forward. She willed her muscles to move and this time the pain was bearable.

“ Intruders!”

Thelma snarled and without thinking launched herself at the nearest target. The necromancer fell under her weight and all her frantic casting proved useless when her claws raked across the female’s chest and throat. Her angry cries became muted gurgles as blood poured from her wound and the magic died from her hands.

Bloodlust, almost ethereal in nature, quaked through her beastly body. Thelma was no longer in control.

The wolf’s limbs moved on their own, thrusting her across the dank cave at a speed that made her muscles burn. Streaks of indigo lightning erupted from the cloaked form she was after. The part of her that held on to her humanity panicked but the wolf was un-phased. The bolts passed over her ears as she crouched and before the human could cast again, the beast had taken his life.

The wolf barely noticed the litter of dead or that the bodies belonged to all but three hags that yet remained alive, though one just barely. Blood covered the two other wolves both the human’s and their own; the coppery scent of it invaded the wolf’s nose and she snarled.

The smallest wolf clamped it’s jaws around the injured hag’s thigh, bringing her to the ground as her mate ripped into it with his claws. More magic bristled in the air and the wolf knew what that meant.

The hags were drawing on the energy, pulling it into their mutated bodies for their own warped uses. Blue fire hit the side of her mate’s head and he howled leaping away. The anguish in his eyes was unmistakable.

The largest wolf jumped in front of his brother protectively and the smallest wolf crossed the battlefield of bodies in three forceful bounds. The hag was light as a feather, her back crashed against the cave wall and the smallest wolf rose on its haunches pinning her to the moss-covered stone. Powerful as the witch was, she bled like any other as the wolf demolished her windpipe with its blood-tainted jaws.

The wolf wanted to keep going, to slice the witch’s face into unrecognizable shreds and taste the blood on her tongue but, deep inside, Thelma held herself back. The wolf was weakening; her body ached, her skin felt constrictive and tight.

Panting and naked on the ground, Thelma lifted herself onto her hands and knees. The metallic twinge of blood lining her cheeks was unpleasant, her throat pulsed with dry heaves that she choked down to come unsteadily to her feet. Farkas and Vilkas had the final hag cornered; her whole twisted body glowed with unholy light. Even Thelma as far away as she was could feel the energy pouring off the witch and suddenly the world she saw through her eyes slowed. She watched Farkas lunge, saw the hag feebly lift a hand, felt all the power be sucked right out of the air as if it had never been. Dread pooled in the recesses of her stomach; her legs snapped to life. Weaponless and naked, Thelma put all her weight on her shoulder as she tackled into the hag’s gut. But she was too late.

Farkas’s howl of abject pain before he hit the ground turned her blood to ice. Thelma squeezed her eyes shut for but a moment before opening them in glaring rage. Unable to do anything else, her fist crushed the hag’s nose and cracked her knuckles. The second punch bounded off the witch’s rock-hard temple, the third her dirty jaw.

Thelma kept pounding the bitch into the stone until a firm hand pulled her forcefully off the hag and a glint of sliver flashed before her eyes. Hot blood splattered across her face as Vilkas brought the sword down hard on the witch’s neck.

Serves you right, bitch.

Thelma spat red onto the ground and turned. There laid Farkas, naked and flat on his back; his chest rose and fell erratically, eyes closed in pain. Burn marks marred his skin from head to toe some places worse than others but the more horrible areas were black and charred.

He groaned and she knelt beside him, grasping for his hand.

“Farkas.” Her voice cracked as she smoothed his hair.

“Elf.” She looked up just as Vilkas tossed her two potions in succession. Thelma wasted no time in uncorking them and forcing the contents of one down his throat.

“It’s not helping.”

Vilkas paced in front of them like the wolf he was then abruptly stopped. “Stay here.”

Her eyes narrowed to a glare on impulse but she nodded. As he disappeared out of the cave she bent over Farkas’s body and pressed a light kiss on his cheek.

“Damn it, you’re not allowed to die.” She hissed. _You’re my only friend_.

The body beneath her groaned and she uncorked the other potion, rubbing most of it on the worst of his burns. Vilkas returned after what seemed like forever carrying a bundle of weeds and the rest of their health potions.

While she alternated between forcing them down Farkas’s throat and spreading them over his wounds, Vilkas began crushing the weeds between his palms in one of their cooking bowls. He poured some of the potion into the bowl and smeared the resulting paste onto his brother’s skin. It smelled sweet.

“This will help,” he said when the paste was spread over the worst burns then collapsed back onto his shins staring down at his prostrate brother with concern, fear and heartache.

The look in his eyes shook her to her very core. Farkas was more than his brother; he was his twin, his best friend…his other half. Thelma couldn’t imagine what this must be like for him.

“Go put on some clothes.” Vilkas said not unkindly or demanding just…hollow. “I will stay here with him.”

“Or maybe I should stay naked,” she said attempting to elicit a smile from his puffy lips. “Might give him something to look forward to.”

Vilkas huffed but a hint of a smirk colored his cheeks. Mission accomplished, Thelma brushed Vilkas’s bare back as tenderly as she could when she passed.

Once she was clothed she would set about recovering the…heads. That would be fun, she thought darkly.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the really, really short chapter...apparently juggling two active fanfics is sort of difficult. Sheesh. Hopefully, I've gotten past my writer's block. Also, FYI, I actually began this fanfic about a year ago and have been writing a um...vary different character than Thelma. So I hope she's well...Thelma-like.   
> As usual, thank you to all my readers and reviewers-you guys are awesome! Chapter rated M.

Darkness had fallen hours ago and a healthy fire raged in the center of the cave. Farkas was in no condition to be moved but Vilkas would ever be thankful to the gods that he was at least conscious and speaking. Moving still hurt him but both he and the elf were making sure that was limited. The elf, he thought as he poked the edge of the fire with a stick. As much as it pained him to admit it, she had been right.

Perhaps he and Farkas could have killed the witches without her but at what cost? As it was, he had almost lost his brother, his twin, his other half.

What would have happened if she had been smart and never taken the beastblood? Would Farkas be dead? Would he?

Across the way, Farkas hissed in a breath as the elf lifted a section of cloth to replace the paste he had made to help ease the healing process. It was basic herbal knowledge learned over years and years of treating other Companions wounds; nothing in depth but it would be enough to aid him as his beastblood healed him from within.

Vilkas looked over his shoulder at their macabre trophies. Four hag’s heads stacked together in a pile by the wall. One head for Farkas, one for Kodlak, one for him and one for the elf should she chose that path. And, gods, did he hope she would. The wolf was not a curse he would wish upon his worst enemy let alone the woman he loved. The woman that tended to his brother with a care Vilkas had never seen from her. Before, that might have made him jealous now he was grateful for it and, if it were possible, loved her even more for it.

“How is he?” Vilkas asked when she sat down carefully next to him obviously taking the pressure off her still-healing shoulder.

“He said he thought he was overcooked.” Her voice was harsh but her crimson eyes sparkled happily.

Vilkas chuckled and she surprised him by leaning into his chest. Her warmth overrode him and he drew her in closer, pressing a light kiss to her temple. “Thank you.”

He felt her shiver beneath him. “For?”

Silently, he pulled her in and nestled her more comfortably in his arms. “You know.” He said softly. “How is the shoulder?”

“Unimportant.” She answered briskly.

Vilkas scowled. “Not what I asked.”

His elf only shrugged. “If you remember, I’ve had worse injuries.”

“Is it impossible for you to be level-headed for once?” he asked gruffer than he had intended.

“I think I am actually.” She replied just as cold. “Farkas requires your attention more than I.”

Curling his irritation at her disregard for her own heath, Vilkas stroked his fingertips across a sharp, ashen cheekbone. Her skin dimpled under his touch. “Am I not allowed to care for you as well?”

Her silence was his answer. The elf had been alone for so long that she did not know how to let someone care for or about her. And he was unsure how to change that.

“I do care for you.” He whispered.

Thelma stiffened in his arms. “I know. It is…hard…to get used to.” Vilkas snuggled into her neck. “When we get back to Jorrvaskar, elf, I am going to lock you in my bedroom and not let you out for a week.”

“Oh? And do I have a say in this kidnapping?”

“No.” He growled.

The elf enflamed him beyond words almost like a primal instinct; it brought out the best and worst in him. He wanted to protect her, love her, ravish her and make her his in every possible way.

“Good luck catching me,” She challenged, snuggling into his chest and closing her eyes. “Oh, and I took care of the fried wolf, so you are keeping watch. Goodnight.”

Vilkas sighed but let her find a comfortable place in his arms and tried to let her breathing calm his frayed nerves.

 

 

 

In three days’ time, Farkas was well enough to move but his skin looked like he’d lain out in the sun for two days straight; angry red and peeling.

Thelma carried her pack and his with a hateful glare every time Vilkas tried to take it from her. It was _called_ being helpful, it was _called_ being a good friend and, damn it, she was going to do it come hail, fire or brimstone.

Farkas would for her. Plus, that meant Vilkas had to deal with the heads and all the dripping and smells that came along with them.

She walked downwind with Farkas, casually flipping her knife for entertainment since conversation was thin at best.

To say they drew looks was an understatement; two Nords, one fried, a dark elf and a bag of severed heads. Good times, she thought darkly.

But they were all alive; Farkas was alive…Vilkas was alive.

“This is a good a place as any to set up for the night.” Vilkas said, setting the bag of heads down with a gentle squelch. “At least there is a stream close by. We all need-”

Thelma hissed at him. “I will not-”

“You will, elf,” he threatened, though it lacked oomph. “Or I will carry you in kicking and screaming. Those wounds of yours haven’t been cleaned in days.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She snarled. “Throw me in that water again, Vilkas and by gods I will castrate you in your sleep!”

Farkas laughed hoarsely. “Well that’s an empty threat if I ever heard one, mouse.”

Thelma narrowed her eyes and saw Vilkas take a step forward. “Not one step closer, wolf!”

An evil smirk painted his lips. “Going to stop me?”

“Yes.” She seethed through her teeth.

“Come on, mouse.” Farkas said, wincing as he carefully sat. “You know he’ll do it.” Vilkas took another step arms outstretched. “Let me be there with you.” He said softly.

Remembering the water rushing up her nose made her shiver.

“My hair will not get wet.” She threatened.

“Promise.”

“Not one drop, Vikas.”

“Not one drop.” He agreed. She glared at him. “I’m serious, one strand and I’ll have your manhood.” Vilkas smirked. “Love, you can have that anytime.”

“Ugh!” she threw her arm up and tugged at her armor ties. “You are impossible!”

Leather and armor came off in a flurry as she stomped passed him, stripping down to more-or-less nothing as she approached the water’s edge. Then froze.

The….water…rippled over river rocks and gleamed in the evening light. And it was the most disgusting sight she’d ever seen. The wolf inside recoiled and whined.

Warm arms fell around her and Vilkas buried his nose in her neck. “Breathe, elf.”

“Breathing.” She said between clenched teeth.

He chuckled. “Breathe better. Here,” he walked passed her into the stream about waist deep and turned to her with his hand held out. “I will hold you.”

“I’m shorter than you.” She pointed out and he moved up so the water just tickled his hips. She growled.

Vilkas smirked at her from the water. “Don’t tell me my fierce hellcat is afraid of a little water.” She narrowed her eyes. “Shut up, wolf.”

He grinned wolfishly and nodded subtly looking behind her.

“Sorry, mouse.” It was too quick for her to run; Farkas shoved her hard from behind and she saw the water rushing up to meet her like the void opening up beneath her.

But instead of falling under she tumbled into a warm body that held her upright even as she fought and struggled.

“Calm down, woman.” Vilkas said gruffly. “I’ve got you.”

Thelma stopped struggling and whipped around with a glare filled with flames. “You promised!”

He shrugged, ignoring her heated stare and pressing a kiss onto her temple. “And I have not broken it; your hair, elf, is dry.”

Then he tilted her chin up and his lips gently captured hers. The feel of them was heaven; warm and soft but she was waist deep in hell-water and it was his damn fault. So she bit him. Hard.

“To the void with you, woman!” he cursed, raising his hand to his bitten lip. Somewhere on the bank, Farkas bellowed a laugh.

“Can’t handle your woman, brother?”

Vilkas growled close to her ear and whispered in a dark tone. “You will pay for that ten times over, elf.”

“Will I?” She challenged. “Can’t wait.”

Vilkas muttered something that sounded like ‘stubborn woman’ but she was unconcerned and somewhat distracted. One, by her soaked smallclothes and, two, by the hardness pressing against her thigh.

My. My. Aren’t we….very comfortable with our twin’s presence around a woman.

Not that she was any better. The wolf inside twisted and whined pitifully, not caring if the divines themselves were watching. Were Farkas not within hearing distance, she might’ve indulged her.

Vilkas yanked her closer almost harshly, so her face was buried in his chest and she felt him sweeping her braids over her shoulders.

His hands dipped into the stream and she hissed as he poured the cold water over her scratched back.

“See? It is infected.”

“I’ll live.”

Vilkas scoffed. “Wasn’t implying you wouldn’t.” He said. “I don’t think there’s a blade sharp enough or a disease brave enough to take you on, elf.” Thelma shivered in disgust as he cupped more water on her wound. “And yet here you stand.”

He turned his attention to her shoulder and began to gently scrub the dirt from it. “Kodlak always said I was reckless,” he chuckled. “Now I know he’s right.” The water slinked followed the trail down her spine. “Are we finished yet?” “Not yet, elf.” His breath swept hotly over the pointed tip of her ear. She felt his fingers glide over her stomach and her muscles tightened into a warm little ball.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

Vilkas smirked. “Punishing you.”

More water cascaded down her back as he casually washed her even while his hand on her stomach fell lower and lower, barely brushing her sex through her smallclothes.

She sighed softly and gripped his hips hard.

“Easy.” He admonished. “Wouldn’t want my brother to hear what his little mouse is up to, would we?” And with that his fingers slipped under the cloth over her core making her gasp softly and growl at the same time. Underneath the water, his intimate caresses grew bolder and he gently nudged inside her. His fingers curled and she saw spots.

“Shh, love.” He whispered.

Shh my bony gray ass.

Vilkas washed her shoulder and arms with one hand as if his other wasn’t pleasuring her and pissing her off at the same time.

His thumb pressed just the right place making her moan into his chest; that coil in her belly began to pulse and she bit down hard on her lip to keep herself from crying out as the coil broke in a torrent of heat.

“Are you sorry yet, elf?” he whispered.

Thelma swallowed hard; her body wanted to naturally relax in his arms but she pushed against him, reached under the water and stroked his hardness from tip to base.

Then she lifted up onto her tiptoes and pulled him down to her with her other hand.

“No,” she whispered in his ear. “But in a few moments you will be.”

She snatched both hands away abruptly and backed away leaving him alone and highly aroused.

“See you on land, wolfy.” She winked then scrambled ass out of the water.

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off I would like to apologize for not updating in such a long time. Turns out juggling two fan fictions, a full-time job, a life and a full-length novel is difficult, who knew? Hopefully it won't be so long between updates but I make no promises. Second, I want to thank those who reviewed just to ask me to update and let me know they enjoyed this story...this chapter is for them since, honestly, without encouragement it may have taken even longer.

Vilkas stared blankly into his mug. It was full, just as it had been for the past two hours; the liquid inside shimmered with false promises. Drink enough and he could forget.

Forget the pile of bodies…no, the pile of _filth_ outside.

Forget the stains of blood on the floor. His blood. Kodlaks blood. His father’s blood.

But try as he might to forget, it kept playing over and over...

The gates of Whiterun abandoned.

The market empty.

The elf unsheathing her daggers.

Jorvaskrr. The bodies. The Silver Hand.

_Vilkas felt the elf tense by his side. She was uncomfortable, angry and scared and that was a lethal combination._

_The subject of her anger was crammed into a corner; a broken woman. And that, in itself, frightened him._

_“Only trying…they hunt us…”Aela whispered quietly, tears rolling down her cheek. “They killed Skjor. I thought…if I killed enough…they would stop.”_

_“Liar!” The elf hissed. “Stop hiding behind your precious Nord ideals and admit that you killed them, you hunted them down like animals-”_

_“They_ are _animals!” Aela snapped._

_“And you’re no better.” Thelma seethed. She was so close now, the women were almost chest-to-chest; crimson irises meeting icy blue. Fire and ice._

_“Kodlak is dead. Ria is dead. So I hope your pathetic attempt at revenge was worth it.” She spat._

_Aela’s fist flew straight into the elf’s jaw and she staggered back from the force. Vilkas growled low in his throat but Farkas grabbed his arm and held it tight._

_Everything about the elf’s demeanor changed; the fire in her eyes vanished into deadly, cold slits. Her fingers gently brushed the daggers at her hip. It wasn’t a threat, not really but Aela’s eyes were drawn to it nonetheless._

_“And what would you have done, elf? If those monsters had taken Vilkas from you? If every day you had to wake up alone and pretend everything was normal when all you wanted was to see them suffer? I never thought…”_

_“They would retaliate?” Thelma finished stepping dangerously close to the other woman. “That was your mistake. Call them monsters, call them animals, call them whatever will make your pretty little conscious feel better.” She snarled._

_Aela’s made to strike her again but this time the elf caught it and her eyes narrowed to slits. “Does that bother you?” She whispered in a voice quiet as death. “Maybe you should ask yourself why.”_

_And that was that. The elf pushed Aela back and stalked passed her toward the stairs down._

_Vilkas watched her retreat and didn’t know what he should feel. The elf’s lack of empathy shocked him. How could she just leave? People were grieving. Did she not care?_

_The thought angered him and with his jaw set tight he made to go after her, demand that she stay then he saw her eyes flicker to Kodlak’s body; he saw the pain in them before she veiled it completely and his anger melted away._

_His little elf was hurting, just like he was…then why was she leaving?_

_A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Let her go, brother.”_ And he had. Even when she was not there to help carry Kodlak and Ria’s stiff bodies to the Underforge or sit with him in grief-filled silence.

Vilkas scowled into his mug. His twin was a comforting warmth by his side but his body longed for another…

Another way to forget.

Without a word he stood. The room spun and he braced himself on the table.

“Brother?” Vilkas waved him off and staggered toward the staircase, intent on…something. But what exactly? Frankly, he was too tired, too sad, too drunk to…to…

Hell. He was too drunk to deal with putting one foot in front of the other.

“Elf?” Vilkas cracked the door and looked inside. Of all the sconces on the wall only one was lit; soft, rapid breaths came from the small lump on the bed…not covered but curled tight in a ball.

The room smelled of her. Every inch of it; Thelma and salt. She sniffled.

“Go away, Vilkas.”

_Vilkas. Not wolf._

Vilkas walked forward, stumbled on his own foot and fell onto the bed. Damn feet. Damn coordination. Damn elf.

“You’re drunk.”

“Very.” He agreed and felt the bed shift but she was moving away from him not towards.

Instinctively, he wrapped his strong arms around her tiny waist and pulled her down to him ignoring her hisses and her nails digging into his wrists.

“Calm yourself, elf.” He brushed her hair from her neck and kissed her there, reveling in her scent. So unlike those other proud women who doused themselves in seas of floral oils, his little elf was.

“Why do you grieve alone?”

“Because I want to _be_ alone.” Despite her words, she shivered as he buried his nose in her scent.

“Stubborn woman.” He crooned affectionately. “How is your jaw?”

“I’m not a delicate flower.”

Vilkas sighed. “Can we not fight?” His fingers ghosted her cheek. “Please? Tell me why you are here?” She let out an irritated huff. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks stained with tears. “I thought you didn’t want to fight.”

Amazing that even in his self-induced drunken stupor, this little elf could break past the numbness and wiggle her way into every nerve he had.

“Elf.” He warned.

“Vilkas.” She countered then sighed. “I…don’t like crying. Comfort is not something I need or am willing to give so I’d rather be alone.”

Vilkas scoffed. “Someone wasn’t hugged enough as a child.”

Suddenly the elf stiffened in his arms and he cursed his drunken mouth.

“Elf I-”

“Leave it.” She snapped, rolling out of his arms and away from him. “Go back to your brother and your family. Grieve with them and leave me the hell alone.” “Love, you know I didn’t mean that.” He whispered.

The room spun as he maneuvered himself onto his knees behind her. Her shoulders were squared off rising and falling with heavy, angry breaths.

Vilkas gently caressed her shoulder which earned him a heated glare that he ignored. “Whether you like it or not, elf,” his breath heated her ear. “You are as much my family as Farkas is now.”

“So either get up off that bony arse of yours of your own free will or I will throw you over my shoulder and tie you to a chair upstairs.”

Thelma shot up like an arrow. The blood-red of her eyes were boiling.

“What part of ‘I want to be alone’ fails to penetrate that thick Nordic skull of yours?” She snarled.

Now he stood and leveled her with a challenging stare. “And wallow in your misery in the darkness?” “Better than getting shit-faced in a pathetic attempt to forget.” She sneered.

Vilkas took a threatening step toward her but she stood her ground, he expected nothing less.

“Like it or not, this is what family does.”

The elf raised an ashen brow. “Drown themselves in ale?”

“Be there for each other.” He whispered harshly. “Drunk, sober, crying and dry; we’re all up there together, elf and you should be too.” “Why? Kodlak was…a great man.” As her voice trembled, he felt his anger melting away. “And Ria…why was she even here?” A single tear escaped and slithered across her sharp cheekbone. “How old could she have been? 17? 18?”

Vilkas found himself caressing the salty water from her cheek. “Age matters not.”

“Right,” She scoffed. “It’s heart that matters. And, Gods know, she had plenty of that but she should never have walked through this door and you know it.” She jabbed his chest with her finger. “She was young, naïve, innocent. Being a Companion was nothing more than an idealistic girl’s fantasy for her; it showed in her eyes, in the way she spoke. Ria wasn’t a killer like us, like me. She was just a stupid, stupid little girl and now she’ll never have the chance to realize it.” He didn’t say a word, just pulled his little elf into his chest and hugged her tight. She shuddered lightly in his arms, he could feel his tunic getting damp but he didn’t soothe her or whisper in her ear how it would be alright.

If his elf needed to cry, he would let her.

Eventually her breathing evened out and he guided her to the bed, nestling her small body next to his.

She sniffled. “If you _ever_ tell anyone about this,” Her voice was muffled in his chest. “Even Farkas…I will slaughter you in your sleep.” “Empty threats, love.”

Hopefully. His elf was a little…unpredictable.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here is the new chapter but (just a warning) updates will likely be every two weeks from now on since I am going to try to alternate updating between fan fictions. Also, after this chapter, I will be deviating from the storyline slightly...you'll all find out why towards the end of this chapter. 
> 
> And, as always, thanks for reading!

 

The heart is a cruel, cruel thing. It gives you joy, and then rips it away. Offers you love and stabs you with it until it feels like your chest is going to burst open from the pain.

Three funerals in fewer months and it scared Thelma; each one a little closer to home. Each one hurt more and more.

But more so…it was the anger.

Kodlak lived a long and fulfilling life; touched lives, molded them. He knew and accepted the dangers of being what he was. Ria didn’t.

Thelma had slipped out halfway through the funeral simply because she couldn’t stand to hear the girl’s father crying and blaming any longer.

One thing she learned long ago, no one is your protector so be your own. It was no one’s job to make sure that stupid girl lived; it was her own and she failed. She failed because she could have had a normal life.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid girl…” Thelma cursed; her dagger flew and embedded itself in the wooden post of Ria’s bed.

It was still unmade.

Thalma ran her fingers through the fur. It was soft. She remembered Ria’s endless tale of how she killed and skinned the animal herself. On and on and on and on until she’d been gritting her teeth just so she wouldn’t kill and skin _her_.

Always talking. Always cheerful. Depressingly so sometimes.

“Why?” She asked aloud. “You had a _family_. A _real_ family. A mother, a father…I saw your little brother crying into his teddy bear.” Her voice became harsh. “If this was your idea of glory, I hope you know how misguided and naïve you are.”

“All of us here? We’re broken. Farkas, Vilkas, Aela…this life is all they’ve ever known and me…I survive. I traded my innocence and childhood to live just another day and one more day after that. But you…” Thelma swallowed even though her throat was dry. There were no more tears; after last night, they wouldn’t come. “You are nothing but a little girl that should have been milking cows with her father and batting her pretty eyelashes at boys instead of burning on that pyre.”

“So it’s boring?” She hissed, unable to keep the venom off her lips. “So fucking sad for you but, then, maybe you like it better as a pile of rotting flesh and charred bones. So why, Ria? Why here? Why this?”

“Because it was important to her.”

Thelma yanked her dagger out of the woodwork and let it fly, coming within inches of Aela’s head. The cold bitch wasn’t fazed.

 Not surprised. Cold bitch, stony face.

“Get out.”

Aela shook her head. “No. While I know Vilkas is the only reason I have not yet found your blade jutting out of my back, I’ll take it. You won’t kill me, elf.”

“Think I can’t?”

“I never said can’t, I said won’t.” Her voice came out hollow and hoarse. “Killers have a certain look and you have it but I also think the twin’s opinion of you matters, so you stow your blade if not your temper.”

Thelma smirked. “But it’s where I stow my blade that matters.”

Aela leaned against the wood and it creaked, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Indeed.”

Both women were quiet then Aela tugged the knife from the wall with a pop. “Ria thought you didn’t like her.”

“I didn’t.” Thelma shrugged. “She was too chatty, too cheerful. Most of the time, when she spoke, I bit my lips to keep from sewing hers shut but…that’s my bed.” She nodded to the adjacent bed, perfectly made and rarely slept in. “At night she would hum until I threatened to yank out her vocal cords and she would giggle. _Giggle_.”

“More than once I caught her with my whetstone even though I told her not to touch my things. I remember when Skjor died,” Thelma saw Aela flinch. “Ria was crying all sloppy water and red, puffy eyes. I threatened this girl daily and she latched onto me like I…I don’t know…”

Aela twirled her dagger between her fingers. “This was what she wanted.”

“To die?” Thelma snapped. “Ria wasn’t a warrior; she was a farmer’s daughter with diluted dreams.”

The dagger paused between her thumb and forefinger. “On that, we agree. To her, being a Companion meant more than a breakaway from the excitement of feeding livestock and tending crops. It meant bringing honor to her family name and becoming something more than what life gave her.”

“That ‘something more’ is currently firewood.” Thelma stepped closer to Aela and yanked her dagger out of her hands. “What she brought to her family name is pain.”

“Untrue.” The woman said softly. “Ria died in battle; a warrior’s death and we sent her off as the battle maiden she always wanted to be.”

“Key word there is death.” Her eyelids were slits.

Aela shrugged as if it meant nothing. “As a Companion, you come to terms with death early on. I have. Ria did.” She paused and her expression was one of realization then she laughed.

The bitch _laughed_.

Thelma fumed, her fists balled at her sides. “Something funny?” “The death-dealer is afraid of death.” She laughed mirthlessly. “Unexpected.”

Suddenly the laughing stopped with the tiniest pinprick of her blade just below her rib. “Quiet your tongue and listen.” She hissed. “Half a second. In half a second, this dagger could pierce your lung. After that… at best, your lungs would collapse and you would suffocate. At worst, they would fill with fluid and blood until it dribbled out and stained your lips.” Thelma applied just a little more pressure, just to satisfy her desire to see the woman wince. “So tell me, _Nord_ , why you glamorize death?”

Before she got an answer, they heard the hall door open and massive footfalls of a man who couldn’t be silent if his life were on the line.

Reluctantly, Thelma removed her dagger from Aela’s side.

“Err…Mouse?”

“What?” Both women called simultaneously.

Farkas leaned against the frame, his eyes roaming back and forth between the two before landing on Aela.

“Problem?”

“Just trying to understand each other.” Aela said.

He nodded once then looked down at Thelma. “You...have a visitor.”

A suspicious chill ran up her spine. “Who?”

Farkas’s lip parted but a loud thump above them cut him off. Almost like a body hitting the floor. _Exactly_ like a body hitting the floor.

“Vilkas isn’t happy.” He explained with a casual shrug.

Thelma clutched her dagger to her side and brushed passed the hulking Nord. If one of the Brotherhood had finally come for her…

No one would die for her; she wouldn’t let them. Her past, her life, her battle.

Thelma rushed up the stairs and nudged her way in between Torvar and Njada to see Vilkas glaring down at the ground, hate burning in his eyes. His knuckles were bloody.

A little lower….

Dark boots, strong legs covered in quiet material leading up to broad shoulders and a mass of fiery red hair that spilled like blood onto the floor.

“Brynjolf?”

The thief struggled to his elbows; already his left eye was swollen and discolored, his nose was bleeding.

He wiped some blood with his wrist and gave a weak smile. “Aye. Good to see you, little lass.”

“Shit.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this is the same chapter I posted last week and deleted because of pasting issues.

 

Vilkas stared blindly at her.

Shit? That’s all the infuriating elf could say? _Shit_?

He watched the elf stride right up the bloody thief and cock her head at him. Her demeanor was cold and stiff and there was a glint in her eyes he remembered seeing before. Right before she nearly dislocated his jaw.

“Shouldn’t have punched him, wolf.” She said.

Was she serious? Vilkas narrowed his eyes at her. This man used her, abandoned her and she was _fine_ with that?

Thelma reared back and her boot connected with the man’s side and he fell with a gasp, clutching his stomach.

“Kicking the hell out of the kidneys hurts more.” She finished.  Vilkas couldn’t help his proud smile.

“Suppose I deserved that.” The thief spat out blood.

“What are you doing here, Brynjolf?”

The thief eyed him cautiously as he rose to his feet. “Call off your guard dog, lass and I’ll tell you.”

Vilkas growled low in his throat. “Choice words, thief.”

Thelma held up a hand but her eyes were trained on the thief. “Down, Fido. How did you find me?”

“Ah, therein lies what we need to discuss.” The thief stole a glance at him. “Preferably…in private.”

A ghost of a smile passed the elf’s lips. “That’s the most suicidal thing you have ever said.”

“Don’t I know it, lass.” He smirked, adjusting his jaw.

Vilkas’s knuckles turned white with fury. He wanted to wipe that self-satisfied bastard’s smirk into the floor until his blood stained the wood.

What right did he have to come into _his_ home and demand _his_ elf?

“Over my dead body, thief.” His voice was poison.

The red-headed thief’s eyes darted between him and the elf. “Well, well now. That explains the warm welcome.”

Thelma narrowed her eyes but beckoned him forward.

“You too, wolf.” She said and Vilkas smirked.

The elf led them to a deserted corner and motioned for the thief to sit with heated eyes.

The thief leaned back in the chair and massaged his jaw. “Your dog hits like an iron bar. Well trained.”

“Cut the shit, Brynjolf.” She snapped. “Your balls are all but tethered to that rancid city; what could be so important that you would come all the way out here?”

The thief sighed, leaning his elbows on the table. “Would you believe me if I said it was you?”

Not the answer Vilkas wanted to hear. And, clearly, judging by how rigid the elf became…not the answer she was expecting.

“Meaning?” She urged with slitted eyes that would put a snake to shame.

“Believe it or not, lass…I’ve had an ear out for you.” He said quietly. “Sapphire overheard some men talking in the Bee about a month ago; mentioned a dark elf fitting your description and…err…temperament.”

The elf went quiet.

“So, we…liberated a few of their belongings.” The thief reached in to his belt then dropped a dagger onto the table. The blade was like a wave of sliver, the hilt a deep black with a single red ruby inlayed within the steel.

To him, it meant nothing but she was just staring at it, not breathing.

“Elf?” Vilkas gently touched her shoulder. “What is it?”

“The Black Hand.”

“Aye.” The thief frowned. “What have you gotten yourself into, lass?”

“That carriage driver,” Vilkas started. “We already knew-”

Thelma shook her head. “Only the highest level assassins wield this blade…”

“To use on the highest level targets.” The thief finished. “They know where you are, lass. They’re just too cautious to attack the Companions directly.”

“Am I to believe Sapphire ‘overheard’ this as well?” She asked.

The thief’s lips turned into a crooked smile. “Devlin may have spiked a drink or two and there might have been some…vigorous questioning involved.”

Thelma hummed in assent. “None of this explains why _you_ are here personally instead of sending one of the guild.”

The thief raised a dusky-red brow. “Who exactly? Half the guild didn’t know you existed, you hid so well and the other half…” He smirked. “Talia still has that scar you gave her.”

“Devlin and I, we can help you, lass-”

“Who says we need your help?” Vilkas growled. “The elf is one of us and we will protect her. _I_ will protect her.”

Thelma whipped around, her eyes like cold fire. “This isn’t your problem, Vilkas. Stay out of it.” Then she turned to the thief. “And you.” She hissed. “You should have stayed in your nice, safe sewer in Riften like the rat you are.”

She turned, glaring and stalked across the room disappearing from his view into the shadows as if she were never there. And then he heard the basement door slam.

The thief chuckled. “Well that went far better than expected.” Vilkas glared at him and he shrugged. “So…you and the little lass, eh?”

“Yes.” He answered gruffly.

“My condolences.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! Sorry for the (long) wait but here is a new chapter. Rated very M. Enjoy :)

Thelma stabbed the straw target once. Hard. It felt good so she did it again and again until her wrist started to throb from the force.

“I can hear you, you know.” She mumbled, sinking her blade deep into the straw before she turned.

Vilkas stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest and a scowl on his face.

“I meant what I said, wolf.” She spat. “The Brotherhood is my problem. They are after _me._ So leave it the hell alone.”

Vilkas snorted like the wolf he was. “Like hell I will.”

“This-”

“No.” He snatched her wrist and held it tight. “If you say ‘not your problem’ once more, so help me, elf, I will throw you over my shoulders and spank your bony ass till its red.” Red-hot anger flamed in her eyes and she tried to yank her wrist back but he didn’t give an inch. His fingers dug into her skin, her ashen skin turning blue with the imprint of his hold.

“I won’t let you run.” His voice was dangerously low as he stepped closer. Those steely blue eyes that could look upon her with such gentleness were now hard.

Thelma matched his ice-cold glare with one of her own.

“You’re a coward.” He growled. “When something gets a little too difficult, a little too hard…you disappear. Where is your honor? Your self-respect?”

“Fuck you.” She hissed. Her wrist hurt but it was nothing compared to the blooming pain in her chest. It felt hollow and unfamiliar and she didn’t like it.

“Fuck me, fight me,” He yanked her into his chest and locked his arm around her waist. “Just don’t run from me like you ran from him.”

Thelma calmed her struggles as her neck snapped up. “Him?”

Her wolf’s face darkened but his hold on her wrist relaxed. “That…thief.”

“Brynjolf? What does it matter? I was his pupil-” she started but Vilkas cut her off.

“The looks he gives you are not that of a man and his pupil.” Slowly, his fingers trailed over her wrist almost tracing the bruises he’d left. “I…I’m sorry, elf.” He whispered and she watched him lift her wrist to his lips.

“But I couldn’t let you run.” His hot breath washed over her skin and made her tremble. The pain in her chest was gone now; she felt overheated but the little bumps surfacing on her arm shown otherwise.

“The Brotherhood wants me, Vilkas. Not you.” She said quietly. “But…they won’t hesitate to kill you or Farkas or any of you and I can’t-”

Vilkas laughed softly. “You speak as if you have a choice in the matter, love.”

Thelma glared but her heart wasn’t in it. “If you would let me finish a damn sentence-”

Suddenly his lips were on hers. Instinctively, she pulled away but he followed as if that were what he was expecting.

“No running.” He murmured against her lips. “Not from me. Not ever. Haven’t you been alone long enough? Trust me to protect you.”

“I don’t need-” She began breathlessly.

“Yes.” He said. “This time you do and-”

“Shit, woman!” He yelled as he pulled back and licked a trickle of blood from his lip. “You bit me again.”

_And you deserved it, wolf_.

She grinned evilly. “I told you to stop interrupting me.” Vilkas scoffed. “One of your parents was a Deadra, weren’t they? That’s why you’re an evil little hellion?”

Thelma just shrugged. “Who knows?”

Her wolf sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “Of all the woman in Skyrim, I chose the hell-spawn.”

“And I got the mangy dog.” She smiled up at him.

Every breath from his lips was like a warm invitation; a little bead of crimson teetered at the edge of his lip where she’d bit him.

She lifted herself onto her toes and leaned in, letting her tongue graze across his bottom lip. Vilkas groaned, tightening his grip around her waist.

“Shut up and listen, wolf.” She whispered into his lips. “I don’t need you to protect me,” she teased her bottom lip with her teeth. “Because I’ll be the one protecting you.”

Vilkas shook his head and strands of his hair caressed her cheek. “Not good enough, elf. Say it. Say you won’t run.”

Thelma glared up at him. His brows were set in determination, his jaw hard; he had not shaved in a while but the dark stubble only accentuated his silvery eyes.

“No, Vilkas.”

A flash of sadness crossed his features then his eyes narrowed mischievously. His arms shot out and hooked under her thighs, lifted her up and threw her over his shoulders.

“Vilkas, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” she spat. “Put me down!”

“No.”

“Vilkas!” She beat on his muscular back and all he did was laugh as he carried her out of the room and started down the hall.

“Shut up, elf.” He said. “And stop struggling.”

Like hell she would. Thelma thrashed around on his shoulders until she felt a sharp, stinging pain on her bottom.

Did he just-

“Stop struggling or I’ll do it again.” She could hear the humor in his voice.

“Err…Mouse?” Farkas stopped dead in the hallway and she threw a heated glance his way.

“Forget you ever saw this or I will have your head.” She hissed.

Farkas looked stricken and amused. “Forgotten. Have fun, brother.”

Thelma eyes narrowed into crimson slits as she was carried into a room. Vilkas kicked the door closed behind them and strode purposefully toward the bed.

She found herself being unceremoniously dropped onto the mattress but before she could move, Vilkas captured her wrists and held them above her head.

“Now, now.” He whispered darkly as she glared daggers into him. “Be a good little elf.” “Vilkas I am not in the mood.” She snapped. “Let me go.”

Vilkas smirked. “Of course, love. Just say the magic words.”

“Fuck. Off.”

His eyes danced as he lowered his lips to her throat. “Try again.”

Fire spread from his lips over her skin and it was hot, so hot it sent burning heat straight into her belly.

“Go to hell.” She managed without much bite.

“Nope.” Vilkas nibbled gently on her clavicle. “Say it.” She squeezed her eyes shut and realized she was panting. Vilkas’s hand slipped under her tunic and caressed her bare skin.

Thelma had to bite her lip to keep from moaning and seeing that damned smirk on his face.

She tilted her chin in challenge. “Vilkas, you have three seconds to get the hell off me.”

Vilkas scoffed. His fingers raked down her ribs sending electric pulses through her body.

“Or what, elf?”

“Three.” She ignored him. “Two…”

Twisting her wrists to grab his and wrapping her legs around his waist, Thelma threw her body to the side and rolled so that she was looking down at a very handsome, very stunned wolf.

“One.” She smirked.

The man below her was breathless; she reached out and carefully brushed the hair from his eyes. There was dried blood on his lip from where she’d bit him and it made her smile.

_My_ naughty wolf. All mine.

“What?” She leaned in took his bottom lip between hers. “Can’t even overpower a girl, old man?”

“Girl, yes.” He said huskily. “Hellspawn, no.”

“Oh, Vilkas, stop it.” She nibbled on his lip again. “You’ll make me blush.”

As she spoke, she reached up and pulled the tie keeping her braid in place from her hair and dangled it in front of his eyes.

“Bad wolfies get leashed.”

 

 

 

The elf felt light as air on top of him but her grip around his wrists were like steel. If he really wanted to break away he could have and, hellcat or not, there was nothing the damned elf could do to stop him.

Vilkas chuckled dryly. “Think I’m stupid enough to let you tie me up, elf?”

His muscles pulsed as he began to pull her away when he met her eyes and froze. Sadness flashed beneath her crimson orbs; sadness she quickly veiled.

“Afraid, wolfy?” She smirked. “I suppose I could let you go this time.”

The elf made to push herself off of him and his hands shot up all on their own, landing on either side of her hips.

With all the gentleness he could muster, he languidly slid his fingers up her side underneath her tunic. Her skin was soft except for the one rough scar on her belly. His female rumbled happily beneath his hands.

What do you know? The hellcat purrs. Vilkas smirked to himself.

“Give me what I want,” he said tenderly. “And I’ll give you what you want.”

“And that is?”

His lips formed a grim line. “Don’t play dumb.”

The elf tensed and looked away. “No.”

“No?” His fingers stilled.

“I won’t put you or Farkas in danger.” She said. “I won’t do it. If it ever becomes necessary to distance myself from you to keep you safe, I won’t stay, I won’t tell you where I’m going and I won’t tell you goodbye.”

“But…” The elf met his eyes with red-hot intensity. “I promise; I will always come back.”

That wasn’t the promise he wanted to hear but looking into her eyes, he knew it was the best he was going to get.

Vilkas sighed and stroked her skin with his thumbs. “Woman, you’ll make me grey before my time.”

“You love it.”

“No.” he shook his head. “I love you.”

The elf’s lips parted slightly then snapped shut. Vilkas took pity on the conflicted look in her eyes and sat up, winding his arms around her waist and nestling her against him.

In one swift move, he ripped her tunic down the middle and claimed her neck with his lips. She gasped in surprise and the gasp turned into a moan as he kissed his way down her chest to where the peak of her breast was just aching for his attention.

“Tomorrow…” He whispered. “Tomorrow, we have duties and grief and life. But tonight, I’ll let you take the lead.”

Then he fell back onto the mattress and gave her a wolfish grin.

“Let me?” She hooked her fingers around her torn tunic. “You mauled my clothes.”

Seemingly from nowhere, his little elf produced a small dagger-no larger than the size of his thumb-and twirled it between her fingers. He hadn’t even seen her hands move.

Vilkas heard the tear of fabric, watched the blade slice through his shirt like butter until all he felt was cool air on his chest.

“Fair’s fair.” She said then smiled down at him wickedly. “And…no touching or else the wolfy gets the leash.”

The elf slid down his body at an agonizingly slow pace and shrugged out of the rest of her clothes. His fingers twitched to touch her newly bare skin, he wanted to feel just how wet she was for him but he restrained himself. Barely.

Vilkas watched her as she reached behind her head, undoing her braid with nimble fingers. Then, with one powerful shake, the elf’s hair cascaded over her naked shoulders like an inky waterfall just begging to be tangled in his fist.

He knew he was being taunted and the elf was playing with fire. The wolf inside him rattled against his chains; he knew his mate was within reach and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t take her.

“Heel, boy.” She said just as her teeth closed around the tie keeping his trousers closed. He was painfully hard and she knew it, just the lightest pressure of her breath was enough to make him bite back a moan.

Her nails raked down his thighs as she pulled the fabric down and off his legs. Every muscle in his body ached from the strain of _not_ touching her and the images in his mind of him flipping her over and pounding her senseless wasn’t helping.

This was what his elf, his _mate_ wanted and he was going to let her have it.

She gripped him gentler than he expected and she lowered her lips to his tip. Vilkas fisted the sheets and groaned as she took him in her mouth.

By the divines. Her lips were so soft, her tongue so hot and, gods, did she know how to use them both. And just as he felt the heat gathering in his abdomen, she pulled her lips off of him and quickly positioned herself over him.

Gods, her heat felt divine.

Vilkas couldn’t stop himself anymore and grasped her hips hard. She gasped beautifully and sheathed him inside her all at once.

“I thought I said no touching?” Her voice was breathless and scratchy from need.

“Couldn’t help it, elf.” He winked.

Her eyes became slits and she leaned forward, he felt himself slipping out of her heat and a growl escaped his throat.

“Easy, wolfy.” She whispered. Her tongue darted out and licked his nipple. “I’m in control. Hands. Off.”

Vilkas hesitated only a moment when he felt her bite down on him. Hard.

“Hands. Off.” She repeated.

Reluctantly, he let his hands slip from her hips and she kissed his chest in approval. “Good doggy.”

The elf sat up, placing her palms in the middle of his chest and started to move gently up and down on him.

This was clearly her first time being in control; her movements were careful, sporadic but passionate. Vilkas watched her as if under a spell; the way her lips were just slightly open, how hard her chest rose and fell. She was beautiful. Sexy. And all his.

Suddenly he felt heat coiling in his abdomen and he groaned.

No matter how many times he made love to her he didn’t think he was ever going to get used to how good she felt. All the other faceless women were nothing compared to this; it was taking every drop of self-control he had to hold himself back.

But it was beautiful torture. Vilkas wanted to see her come undone on top of him, hear her cry out his name in pleasure.

And he didn’t think he was going to have to wait long; her heavy breaths were becoming quick pants and muted moans. The elf picked up pace as she rode him; the friction passed like pleasurable fire all through his body.

This woman was dangerous, infuriating, and stubborn and she would never know just how much the man beneath her loved her.

Suddenly she slammed herself down on him hard with a small cry and her muscles seized around him. That was more than his paper-thin control could handle and fell over the edge with her, spilling his warmth deep inside her.

Once the cloudiness of his release lifted he wrapped his arms around his female and pulled her sweaty body down beside his.

Vilkas kissed the nape of her neck tenderly and she sighed like a contented cat.

“Next time, be louder, elf.” His whispered. “I want the thief to hear.”

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if anyone is even going to read this it's been so long. But, well, here it is. I can't promise there'll be quick updates or any at all really. I have writers ADHD, I swear. Between my original novel and about a dozen fan fictions, I've written myself into a corner. In any case, I hope you like it.

 

**1 month earlier**

People of Skyrim often though of the Black Hand as an entity of death but that entity had many bloodied hands and even more watchful eyes.

The sects were nothing but pods where both the faithful and the simply violent gathered to justify their bloodlust.

This…this was the true hand of Sithis.

There were no faces. There were no names. The hooded figure sitting mutely across from you could be your baker, your lover, your enemy….

It was kept this way for a reason. Should one’s heart become weak, their lips could spill no poison against others before another’s blade ceased that weak heartbeat.

Today there were three. Sometimes there were as many as a dozen but today only three and those three had not yet spoken but were waiting in silence.

Suddenly a door was thrown open, shattering that uneasy silence. Light flooded the chamber and cast an oppressive glow over the inhabitants.

In the path of the light was a woman; her soft skin and pale hair brought images of nobility but the sharp coldness of her eyes betrayed her for the murderer she was.  

She approached the three like a storm and slammed his fist onto the stone barrier, glaring at the figures beyond.

“We had a deal!” Her voice shook with unknown emotion even as her face remained calm. “But that…elf…” she spat the word with disgust. “Yet lives.”

The figures were silent but their hidden eyes bore down on the woman through darkened hoods.

She swallowed hard and righted herself, gently bowing. “Forgive me my outburst, Masters.”

More disquieting silence followed then, finally, a figure spoke in a low, feminine voice.

“The pain in your eyes has not lessened, yet it has been some time since the event.”

_The event_. The woman seethed inwardly. Were it anyone else who spoke those words, they would be dead.

“I want the elf.” She spoke quietly, though her voice echoed in the chamber. “I want her entrails scattered about my feet. I want her blood to drip from my fingers.”

“You wish vengeance.” Another male voice said gently.

“I wish for justice!” She spat at the figure. “But the sewer rat hides herself well.”

“Not so well that out eyes have not seen her.” The female figure said. “The young elf has taken refuge in Whiterun.”

The woman’s eyes glittered. “I see. Then allow me to-”

The third figure who had until now been silent raised a robbed hand. “It is not so simple.”

His voice was cold and quiet, yet the other two figures seemed to bow their heads as he spoke and she herself felt a chill run through her bones.

“This elf is by far more resourceful, calculating and intelligent than you have led us to believe.” He said. “She has taken up with the Companions in Whiterun; to strike at her there would be….difficult to say the least.”

The woman took a deep breath. “Companions.”

“So you are aware of the…rumors?” He said. His words washed over her like honey; deep and rich but it took every ounce of willpower and dignity she possessed not to cower in his presence. “Then you also know it would be…unfortunate…to draw their ire _or_ their attention.”

Anger rose in her chest. “Master, are you suggesting I ignore her betrayal?! What she did-”

The figure shot up from his seat like an arrow. “Be silent!”

The woman visibly recoiled, her heart beating out of her chest.

“I am suggesting nothing more than time.” He lowered his voice. “If it is the will of Sithis that this elf ‘s life be extinguished then opportunity will present itself but know this.” The figure began to descend the stone stairs like a graceful shadow and she backed up involuntarily but was too late. A gloved hand reached out and captured her jaw in a firm hold.

The woman felt eyes burning into hers from beyond the darkened hood and she could do nothing but stare back.

“You are not the voice of Sithis, nor are you his ears.” He whispered gently. “If you do _anything_ to compromise the Brotherhood for your own selfish agenda, your punishment shall be tenfold that of what you are imagining doing to that darling little elf you lost.”

All she could do was shake quietly in anger and fear as his fingers loosened and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear like a lover.

“Understood?”

She nodded carefully. “Yes, Master.”

“Good.” She heard the smile in his voice.

When the woman was gone and the figure returned to his seat he spoke quietly.

“It is a shame.” He said in a gentle, almost brotherly tone. “It seems an exponential loss of talent.”  
“Listener?” One of the figures questioned tentatively.

The figure waved off the question. “Continue to keep an eye on this elf but keep an even closer one on the woman. Vengeance does interesting things to one’s heart; I would very much like to see where this goes.”

 

 

 

_The wolf ran. Snow crunched beneath his massive paws as the word rushed by him in shades of green and white. Cold, winter’s wind blew through his fur, already matted with the blood of his enemies yet he didn’t slow._

_He did not feel fear nor pain, love nor sorrow; all he felt was the hunt. The hunt consumed him; it pulsed in his veins, beat in his heart and commanded his thoughts. Everything was his prey and nothing could escape._

_Meat could not sate his hunger. Water did not take away his thirst. The wolf was always wanting; always deprived. And so he hunted._

_Now he was tracking a scent on the wind; it stung like poison on his nose but churned the hunger within him nonetheless._

_The wolf hunched down low behind a bramble thicket, his yellow eyes locked on the clearing before him._

_There stood his prey. Her hair was black as the night around her but it sparkled in the moonlight like onyx and her dress as white as the freshly fallen snow at her feet._

_Images of her blood on his tongue danced through his mind. The wolf lived for the hunt, and this one was about to come to an end._

_And then she turned._

_The elf’s crimson eyes met his and what he saw confused him. Determination. Challenge._

_The wolf hesitated only a moment more before charging out into the clearing at a full run straight at his unmoving target, his prey._

_Her lips curled into a venomous smile._

_Snow began to fall._

_Blood beat in his ears._

_The elf cocked her head._

_And the wolf leapt._

Vilkas awoke drenched in sweat and panting; he was far hotter than he should be and then he realized why.

The little elf nestled in his arms moaned in her sleep and stirred but didn’t wake. His arm was draped neatly over her bony hip, his fingertips grazing her inner thigh.

Hot though he might be, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her.

Vilkas trailed up her side in a feather-light touch. Her skin was clammy, though no worse than his.

“Mmm.”

He smirked at her reaction and dropped a kiss on her neck. That he was not now staring down the blade of a dagger proved just how far she had come in trusting him.

“I love you.” He whispered.

Vilkas smoothed her hair and laid his head back on the pillow.

“Mmmm…’ov ‘ou too.”

His head sprung up as if his pillow were on fire and looked down at her. She was not classically beautiful, her cheekbones were too sharp, her lips were not plump or feminine yet, to him, she was breathtaking.

A soft smile formed on his lips. “If only you could say that when you’re awake, elf.”

He kissed her hair gently and pulled her closer. Her bare back pressed into his chest; she was so thin he could’ve counted her ribs if he wanted to.

As a Nord, women were supposed to be thick and curvaceous; soft to touch but hell to cross. And how many women like that had he had in his bed? More than he could remember, he was sure and yet none of them pulled at his heart the way the bony female snoring lightly in his arms did.

Vilkas frowned as his nightmare came back to him. The elf was yet a cub; the beastblood won’t start affecting her sleep for some time.

And she would be cured of her curse long before then. He would see to that.

Without waking her, Vilkas gently slipped out of bed and gathered his clothes off the floor. Trying not to make too much noise and awake his elf, he splashed his face with water from the basin and ran it through his already damp hair.

Vilkas looked at himself in the mirror. When did he get so old? He traced the wrinkles along his forehead; it seemed he had one for every decade of his life. Soon, the elf would probably have one dedicated just to her.

Tomorrow…

Vilkas peered over his shoulder at Thelma’s gentle, sleeping face.

Tomorrow he was going to talk to Farkas and Aela. The old man deserved a better place in death than being a Deadra’s lap dog for all eternity.

Long before he was the Harbinger, he had been his mentor….the closest thing to a father he and farkas had. The grief of his loss weighed heavy in his heart but he knew Kodlak would want him to morn and move on…and he was trying.

But it wasn’t just grief. It was guilt.

When Kodlak needed them the most, they weren’t there….

“Vilkas?”

The elf’s voice was soft with sleep almost, dare he say it, feminine.

By instinct, he toward his mate to see her lying on her elbow with the sheets bunched around her chest. He approached her cautiously, a groggy Thelma was still dangerous…quite possible more….and kneeled down beside the bed.

She reached out with her slender fingers and, with a single touch on his cheek, eased the heartbreak brewing in his chest.

“You’re crying.” She sounded confused.

Vilkas chuckled weakly. “Men don’t cry.”

The elf’s brow rose in disbelief. “So I suppose you’re just leaking then? Vikas…I…” She hesitated. “Well…I’ve never…lost…someone…” Her hand stilled and she sighed. “We both know I’m terrible at this so can we just skip the words and I’ll just let you have your way with me again?”

Vilkas groaned deep in his throat but he pulled her to him, letting the sheets fall away from her breasts. “You’ll be the death of me, woman.”

She smiled sleepily. "You love it."

And he did. He really did. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading. I had this posted on Fanfiction for a bit but decided to take it down to focus on my other story...  
> Never used Ao3 before so the system is taking a bit of getting used to. Anyway, thanks again!


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